


These Circles (They're Leading Me Back To You)

by Meggory



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Character death but it’s not permanent, Clone Wars-era AU, Fluff, Groundhog Day, Happy Ending, I swear to god it's a happy ending, M/M, Qui-Gon Lives, Romance, Smut, Time Loop, the smut is in part three in case you're looking for it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-12 18:41:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 30,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13553304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meggory/pseuds/Meggory
Summary: Qui-Gon Jinn had a regular day planned, or as regular as you can get in the middle of a galactic war, until tragedy strikes and he wakes up to do it all over again. And again. And again.If he can't get out of this karking temporal anomaly, then the least he can do is convince the Negotiator that he's still Obi-Wan Kenobi.





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome, dear readers! I couldn't believe there wasn't a Groundhog Day-style QuiObi fic, so my brain helpfully provided the incessant nudging required to write one for you all. I promise that this fic is not as gruesome or as angsty as it seems, and it has a happy ending, because who doesn't like happy endings? As a challenge to myself, I'm also warning that the final chapter will be explicit. I wanted to post this for the actual Groundhog Day, that wonderfully human way of prognosticating the weather using rodents of unusual size, so I'm throwing this to the wind without a beta reader. All mistakes are mine, and if you see anything particularly glaring, let me know!

The tickle under his nose jerked him awake so forcefully that he teetered precariously on the edge of the bed and hit the floor in a tangle of sheets. Groaning, he winced at the bright light streaming in from the window. He spat out the mouthful of hair that had woken him in disgust.

Wait, bright light?

"Karking hells, what time is it?" he hissed as he freed his arm from his bedsheet and groped along the top of his bedside table for his comm. His fingers grasped the device and brought the display to his nose. 1000 hours. " _Kark_."

How could he have overslept by _three hours_? No one had bothered to comm him? Frustrated, he wiggled and swore his way out of his binding sheets and threw on a set of clean clothes. Without even a moment to spare for a cup of tea, he jammed his feet into his boots and flew out the door.

The war council meeting was just adjourning when Qui-Gon tried to slip into the room unnoticed. Mace Windu, stacking datapads from his seat at the head of the table, lifted an eyebrow at him. "Nice of you to join us, Qui-Gon," he said drily.

"My alarm didn't go off," retorted Qui-Gon distractedly. As Jedi filed past him, Jedi he had not seen in-Temple for long months as they gallivanted through the galaxy, leading clone troops in defence of the Republic, his eyes searched for a single face.

Obi-Wan Kenobi was slowly gathering himself, waiting for the press of people to leave before making his way to the door. Even from the other side of the room, Qui-Gon bit back a gasp; his former apprentice looked pale, almost gaunt, and the dark circles under his eyes looked more like bruises. At the sound of Qui-Gon's voice, however, he glanced up and offered a genuine smile. "Good morning, Qui-Gon," he said jovially as he wound his way around the table and past a knot of Jedi chatting quietly amongst themselves to sidle up to the taller man. "Rough night?"

"Apparently I've forgotten how to set an alarm," replied Qui-Gon.

"You'll have to show me how," grinned Obi-Wan. "I could use a lie-in or thirty."

"From the sounds of it, you've been busy." Qui-Gon motioned for him to lead the way out of the meeting room.

The sigh that escaped the redhead's lips held a weight that spoke of a troubled soul. "That's one way of putting it. When this war is over, I'm putting in a request for a year's leave just to kriffing _sleep_."

This bloody war—the Clone War, people had started calling it—had officially made itself the bane of Qui-Gon Jinn's existence. More than once, he had seriously considered leaving the Order, renouncing his place in a grand spectacle to protest the role of the Jedi in perpetuating the servitude of an entire population of cloned humanoids, but every time he became frustrated enough to give up, something else would happen that involved Obi-Wan Kenobi. Whether it was dramatic heroism or life-threatening foolishness, his former Padawan was constantly in the thick of the conflict. Every time, his holoprojection would wink into existence, bathing Qui-Gon as well as the few Council members left on Coruscant in a soft blue glow. Every time, he would look a little more worse for wear, a little more battered, sometimes more than a little bruised. Qui-Gon had considered leaving and asking Obi-Wan to come with him, but despite his Knighting, Obi-Wan was still the same dutiful Jedi he had been his whole life. And so, Qui-Gon stayed, if only in the hopes of protecting him in some way, however minor.

Qui-Gon smiled at him. "I'm certain I could get that signed off. Between injury time and vacation, you've earned a half-year off already."

"So, for another six months, I need to, what? Break both legs and acquire a concussion?" Obi-Wan's tone was light, but Qui-Gon could hear a tightness, a frustration hidden beneath the joke.

"As long as you don't follow my example," said Qui-Gon. "Being Temple-bound is about as fun as it sounds."

The half-beat that Obi-Wan took to answer did not go unnoticed. Qui-Gon may have survived the incident in Theed, but Obi-Wan never appreciated any mention of Qui-Gon's inability to serve in the field. "Did you get time for firstmeal?" he asked, changing the subject completely.

"Not even a cup of tea," groused Qui-Gon.

"I skipped it in favour of fifteen more minutes of unconsciousness," admitted Obi-Wan. "Care to join me?"

Qui-Gon opened his mouth to agree when his comm chirped. Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, Qui-Gon pulled it out of the little pocket in his trousers. "Yes?"

"The daily report is ready, Master Jinn," came the tinny voice of See Uross, his Nautolan secretary. "There are some urgent items."

Obi-Wan kept his face neutral as Qui-Gon gave him an apologetic look. "Very well, Knight Uross. I will be with you momentarily. Jinn out." He thumbed off the comm. "I'm sorry, Obi-Wan. Espionage waits for no Jedi. Can I take a rain check?"

"Of course," Obi-Wan agreed. "Although I'm scheduled for departure at 2300 tonight. The _Negotiator_ is taking on supplies before heading out to the Mid Rim."

"Perhaps I'll catch you for latemeal?" Qui-Gon replied hopefully.

"I'm sure Ahsoka will be catching up with her friends, so you'll be spared her enthusiastic retelling of our last adventure."

"I never tire of my grand-Padawan's dramatic embellishments, thank you very much. They lend a certain sparkle to events that I've only read about," retorted Qui-Gon as he stepped backwards, putting distance between them while not taking his attention off Obi-Wan. "If we miss each other again, take care, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan nodded mutely before his face cracked into a grin. "Qui-Gon?"

"Yes?"

"Your belt's on backwards."

" _Kark._ "

 

*

 

Qui-Gon pried his reading glasses off the bridge of his crooked nose and tossed them on his desk with a heavy sigh. No matter how many times he went in for optical adjustment, the procedure never stuck; in three months or less he was back to wearing lenses just so he could read bloody datapads. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes for a moment, relishing the pressure, then blinked furiously to refocus on the chronometer hanging on his office wall. 2150.

He unleashed a torrent of profanity, most of it picked up in the Outer Rim as a young Knight, so vile that Uross actually poked her head in the door to check on him. "Master Jinn?" she asked carefully.

"First thing tomorrow, I'd like you to draft a request for a new office with an actual karking window!"

"I'm pretty sure the only way to get a room with a view is for someone high-ranking to die," grimaced the Nautolan.

"Then the second thing we're going to do tomorrow morning is murder Mace Windu and take his office."

"I'll add it to the list." She hid a jaw-cracking yawn behind her pale green hand. "Sorry, Qui-Gon. I got buried under incoming transmissions."

He waved her off. "It's not your fault, See. I'm incapable of setting alarms today, apparently. Go home, get a good night's sleep."

"Yes, Master Jinn." She disappeared back to her cramped desk with a relieved smile.

The piles of datapads and star charts and informant profiles strewn across the entire surface of his desk needed to be tidied. He liked to have a clean desk at the end of the day; it helped him be more organized, and as the Jedi Master in charge of espionage against the Confederation, organization was paramount. His fingers hesitated over the first stack of datapads.

Obi-Wan was leaving in an hour, and Qui-Gon had completely missed every opportunity to spend time with him. The Knight would likely not return to Coruscant for weeks, if not months.

_Karking Sith hells!_

Abandoning his desk, Qui-Gon pulled on his cloak and hurried out of his office with a farewell tossed over his shoulder at his secretary. He fiddled with his comm, now properly extracted from his belt pouch, until Obi-Wan's voice piped through the audio circuits. "Hello, Qui-Gon."

"We missed latemeal."

"Yes." He sounded a touch disappointed.

"I'm sorry," Qui-Gon said, hoping Obi-Wan understood that he meant it. "I lost track of time."

"You need a window for that horrid office of yours," teased Obi-Wan.

"It's on my to-do list."

"I'm just about to fetch Ahsoka. Admiral Block has requested an earlier departure."

Dismayed, Qui-Gon sighed silently. "I see."

"Platform jenth-eight, if you want to see us off," replied Obi-Wan. "You have about twenty minutes."

Qui-Gon did the quick calculation in his head. It would take fifteen minutes just to get there. Of course it would be on the other side of the Temple! "I'm going to make it," he promised, hurrying his long, ground-eating steps. Sometimes his freakish height was helpful.

Obi-Wan chuckled. "I hold you to that, Master. Kenobi out."

The late hour provided mostly empty corridors, and Qui-Gon was not above using a touch of the Force to help him on his way a little faster. The 'lifts seemed agonizingly slow, but he finally stepped out into the corridor leading to the landing platform half a minute faster than he had estimated. At the large loading doors, closed until the ship touched down, Obi-Wan and his Padawan Ahsoka Tano had their heads together over a stack of sealed supply crates. Ahsoka spotted him first; the young Togruta's face split into a grin and she waved enthusiastically. "Hi, Master Qui-Gon!"

"Ahsoka, I swear you're a foot taller than the last time I saw you," he told her, hugging her with one arm against his side. She snuggled up to his ribs and palmed the wrapped sweet he secretly pressed into her hand. Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow at him, but Qui-Gon maintained his most innocent face.

"She needed new boots," Obi-Wan noted wryly. "That's the third time in as many months. I have to stop feeding her."

Qui-Gon snorted and leaned down to whisper, "He once ate for 24 hours when he was sixteen. It was horrifying."

Ahsoka giggled and slipped out of his embrace. "In all fairness, Master Obi-Wan, that second pair had a blaster hole through the heel."

"Noted."

Qui-Gon's heart ached. He missed the camaraderie, the adventure, the closeness he had once had with Obi-Wan. He was also terrified, no matter how hard or long he meditated, that one day he would not come home, or that his sweet grand-Padawan would never make it to her Trials. Both of them were watching him now with tiny, identical frowns of concern. He had been musing too long. "Did you see your friends, Ahsoka?"

She nodded. "Most of them are out on campaign, but Barriss was here, and Master Obi-Wan made Skyguy join us."

"Anakin," Obi-Wan clarified.

"I didn't realize Plo was on planet," Qui-Gon said.

Obi-Wan shook his head. "Master Plo is still at the front, but Anakin needs one rotation in the Halls of Healing before he can take the Trials. He's taking it with surprisingly good grace; I don't know if I'd be that content to be on Coruscant when my Master was in the thick of things."

They shared a knowing smile, but before Qui-Gon could say anything further, the landing klaxon sounded once. "I suppose that's us," Obi-Wan said with a small sigh.

Ahsoka shouldered her bag, then grabbed Obi-Wan's as well. "Bye, Master Qui-Gon."

"I'll see you soon, Ahsoka," he told her, hoping it was not a lie.

She hit the platform door control, and the pneumatics hissed loudly as the door rolled to the side. A small transport shuttle waited on the platform with its ramp extended. Obi-Wan ran a hand through his hair, which fortunately had not been cut Padawan-style for years. "I guess this is it," he said with a rueful smile. "I'll see you when I see you."

"I'm sorry we missed our meal," Qui-Gon told him.

"Me too," he said softly. The weariness was almost palpable, and Qui-Gon bit his lip to keep from begging him to stay. It would not be seemly, and what good would it do anyway? Obi-Wan took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and forced the tightness from his eyes. He looked once again like the strong, capable Jedi General he was. "Take care, Qui-Gon."

"May the Force be with you, Obi-Wan," replied Qui-Gon, folding his hands in his cloak to keep himself from reaching out and pulling the other man into a bear hug.

Obi-Wan gave him a little smile, then pushed the antigrav cart with the shipping crates out to the shuttle. Qui-Gon watched from the threshold as the redhead disappeared up the ramp. The ramp lifted and sealed the shuttle behind him, and the shuttle sat for a brief moment before cycling the engines and taking off. Qui-Gon watched the lights of the shuttle blur into the other moving, blinking lights of nighttime Coruscant with a heavy heart.

His heart stuttered as the Force screeched in agony, and the bright white of an exploding hyperdrive seared his retinas. A high pitched wail in his ears was all that was left as the heat burned his skin.

 

*

 

The tickle under his nose jerked him awake so forcefully that he teetered precariously on the edge of the bed and hit the floor in a tangle of sheets. Groaning, he winced at the bright light streaming in from the window. He spat out the mouthful of hair that had woken him in disgust.

Wait, bright light? There had been a bright light, an explosion—the _shuttle_?

_Obi-Wan?_

He slammed his hand on the bedside table to grab the comm, then thumbed it on. "Obi-Wan?" he said urgently.

The tinny voice on the other end was nearly a whisper. "Qui-Gon, you're supposed to be in this meeting."

"I—" Qui-Gon was so filled with relief that he let his head rest back onto the floor. "Sorry to disturb you. I'll be there shortly."

A dream, then. A horrifying, soul-crushing nightmare. Qui-Gon extracted himself from his bedsheets and took the time to splash cold water on his face before dressing. The irritation at discovering the time paled in comparison to the dread that still rushed through his veins. He pulled on his boots with more force than necessary and hurried out the door.

The war council meeting was just adjourning when Qui-Gon barged into the room, not caring how late he was or how many eyes he attracted. Mace Windu, stacking datapads from his seat at the head of the table, lifted an eyebrow at him. "Nice of you to join us, Qui-Gon," he said drily.

"My alarm didn't go off," retorted Qui-Gon distractedly. As Jedi filed past him, Jedi he had not seen in-Temple for long months as they gallivanted through the galaxy, his eyes searched for a single face. He exhaled a sigh of relief as he spotted the copper hair of his former apprentice.

Obi-Wan Kenobi glanced up at the sound of his voice and gave him an odd, squinting look. "Are you all right?" he asked, gathering his things and pushing away from the table. "You look…perturbed."

"I overslept and had a nightmare to boot," Qui-Gon said softly with a small shrug. "I forgot to set my alarm, apparently."

"You'll have to show me how," grinned Obi-Wan. "I could use a lie-in or thirty."

Qui-Gon nearly stumbled as a wave of deja-vu washed over him. He had heard Obi-Wan say that before, but when? He fumbled for the memory; it was like catching smoke with his bare hands. Perhaps something from his teenaged years? He forced a chuckle. "From what I've read, you've been busy."

The sigh that escaped the redhead's lips held a weight that spoke of a troubled soul. "That's one way of putting it. When this war is over, I'm putting in a request for a year's leave just to kriffing _sleep_."

This conversation—why did he feel like they had said these exact things before, and with the same intonation? Obi-Wan looked and sounded exhausted…just as he had in Qui-Gon's nightmare. The younger man was now peering at him with more than a hint of concern. "Qui-Gon? Are you certain you're all right?"

"I-I think so." Qui-Gon shook his head slightly, then smiled at him. "I missed firstmeal, and by the look of you, so did you."

Obi-Wan's lips quirked up in a tiny smile. "Guilty."

"Then shall we?" Qui-Gon gestured to the door with his finest manners, and Obi-Wan huffed a small chuckle.

"I suppose we shall, provided we don't get"—the comm chimed in Qui-Gon's pocket—"interrupted," he finished with a sigh.

Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, Qui-Gon fished his comm out of his trouser pocket. "Yes, See? What is it?"

The Nautolan seemed surprised at his greeting. "Er, good morning, Master Jinn. The daily report is ready for you, sir. There are some urgent items."

Once again, the deja vu was overwhelming. Qui-Gon had to close his eyes for a moment and breathe out the uncomfortable feeling walking along his spine. "My meeting is not quite finished, See. I'll be there in about an hour."

"Er, yes, sir." Qui-Gon stabbed his thumb against the comm button and went to put it away properly in his belt pouch, only to find the leather pouch was not where it was supposed to be.

"It's on backwards," Obi-Wan murmured, holding back a grin.

"Kark," Qui-Gon muttered with more heat than he intended. This entire morning was off, and he had a feeling the rest of the day would not be much better. He managed to flip his belt over properly and readjust it without more cursing.

Obi-Wan ran his fingers over his moustache and rested them on his bearded chin. That had been a surprise; not long after requesting a Padawan, he had shown up on a transmission sporting a very neatly trimmed beard. Qui-Gon had written him a letter asking about it, and Obi-Wan had replied a bit shortly that it was difficult to take oneself seriously as a teaching Master when one looked as young as the apprentice. A few weeks later, Qui-Gon had sent him a new pair of beard scissors as an apology for asking the question at all. "You're dodging your secretary today?" he asked lightly.

"I'm dodging my secretary for _you_ , Obi-Wan Kenobi," Qui-Gon told him. The tips of Obi-Wan's ears reddened, but Qui-Gon refused to comment on it. "Let's go have some tea."

Firstmeal with Obi-Wan made eating in the refectory actually bearable. They had just missed the morning rush, and secluded themselves in a corner of the room with their trays and tea mugs. Obi-Wan ploughed through half his meal before he glanced up at his dining parter and dropped his fork. He ran a hand over his embarrassed face. "I'm so sorry, Qui-Gon. The field seems to have stripped me of basic things like manners and tasting my food." He deliberately wrapped his hands around his mug of tea but did not drink.

"You did the same thing on Mandalore," Qui-Gon pointed out gently. "So did I. Not tasting anything made the ration bars far more palatable."

Obi-Wan grunted in agreement, then deliberately changed the subject. "How's the spy business these days?"

"Classified," retorted Qui-Gon with a grin. "As usual. How's the general business?"

A dullness descended over his former apprentice's grey eyes. "I'd rather not talk about it," he said quietly, sending a stab of hurt directly into Qui-Gon's replacement heart. He was not going to prod the younger man for information, despite every fibre of his spymaster being insisting he do so.

Instead, Qui-Gon reached over and placed his hand on Obi-Wan's wrist. "We don't have to."

Obi-Wan's gaze fixed upon the spot where their skin met, and nodded numbly. "Thank you."

"Tell me about Ahsoka," Qui-Gon said, forcing himself to retract his hand. His fingers were cold. "How's my favourite grand-Padawan?"

"She'd be the first to remind you that she's your only grand-Padawan," Obi-Wan retorted wryly, "and still take the candy you sneak her at every opportunity. Don't think I haven't noticed. You'd spoil her rotten if we were in-Temple regularly, Qui-Gon."

"Grand-Master's privilege," Qui-Gon replied with a smug smile. "It's my reward for keeping you alive long enough to pass your Trials."

"I thought teaching _was_ the privilege," snorted Obi-Wan. "I seem to recall a great deal of expounding on that point when I requested an apprentice."

Qui-Gon stared down his nose at him. "You asked me to find you an apprentice. _Me_ , Obi-Wan."

"Of course I asked you," he said, suddenly quiet and still. "You know me better than anyone."

Stunned at this admission, Qui-Gon was at a loss for words. He had believed the request had been for expediency's sake, to avoid having to make a costly detour back to the Temple to choose a Padawan. Finally, he took a sip of his unadulterated sapir tea to gather his strength. "I chose the only child who was past the age of choosing. With the war on, the Council decided to forgo sending any children to the Agri-Corps. Ahsoka was the only one past the age of thirteen. I think she was hoping Anakin would be Knighted sooner, so Plo could take her."

Obi-Wan glanced at him then. "She never told me that. I read her file, of course, but I guess my eyes skimmed over her birthdate. I was more concerned with taming her innate recklessness down to manageable levels."

Hiding his smile behind a sip of tea, Qui-Gon struggled to keep down a chuckle. "Sounds familiar," he said, dry as dust, and Obi-Wan gave a tiny start before glaring at his former teacher. Before he could say something undoubtedly witty and cutting, Qui-Gon's comm chimed again. "Yes?"

"I'm sorry to bother you again, Master Jinn, but there's a priority transmission, marked for your eyes only," See told him.

"Very well. I'm on my way. Jinn out." He swallowed a sigh but offered an apologetic smile to Obi-Wan. "I'm sorry to cut our time short, Obi-Wan."

"If you'd like to say farewell to Ahsoka, we'll be at platform jenth-eight at 2300."

"I would like that. Thank you." Qui-Gon pushed away from the table and grabbed his tea mug. As he passed his former apprentice, he placed his hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder and squeezed. Under his fingers, beneath the layers of wool and raw silk, the younger man felt bony. "I'll see you later, Obi-Wan."

 

*

 

Qui-Gon tore his reading glasses off the bridge of his crooked nose and tossed them on his desk with a heavy sigh. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes for a moment, relishing the pressure, then blinked furiously to refocus on the chronometer hanging on his office wall. 2145.

He unleashed a torrent of profanity, most of it picked up in the Outer Rim as a young Knight, so vile that See actually poked her head in the door to check on him. "Master Jinn?" she asked carefully.

"First thing tomorrow, I'd like you to draft a request for a new office with an actual karking window!" Even as he said it, a chill ran up his spine. _I've said this before, haven't I?_

"I'm pretty sure the only way to get a room with a view is for someone high-ranking to die," grimaced the Nautolan, and the responding joke about murdering Mace Windu for his office died in Qui-Gon's suddenly parched mouth.

He swallowed, desperate to force his vocal cords to work. "I have somewhere I need to be. Go home, See," he croaked.

"Yes, Master Jinn." She disappeared back to her cramped desk with a relieved smile.

He ignored the messy pile of datapads and flimsi notes littering his desk and forgot to pull on his cloak as he barrelled out of his office without even saying farewell to his secretary. As he hurried to the 'lift, he fiddled with his comm until Obi-Wan's voice piped through the audio circuits. "Hello, Qui-Gon."

"You're leaving sooner than you thought," Qui-Gon blurted.

A surprised pause, then, "Yes. Admiral Block requested an earlier departure. You, ah, still have time? Ahsoka wants to see you."

"I'm going to make it," he promised, hurrying his long, ground-eating steps. Sometimes his freakish height was helpful.

Obi-Wan chuckled. "I hold you to that, Master. Kenobi out."

The late hour provided mostly empty corridors, and Qui-Gon used as much of the Force as he could without injuring himself or running into a wall. The 'lifts seemed agonizingly slow, but he finally stepped out into the corridor leading to the landing platform a minute faster than he had expected. At the large loading doors, closed until the ship touched down, Obi-Wan and his Padawan Ahsoka Tano had their heads together over a stack of sealed supply crates. Ahsoka spotted him first; the young Togruta's face split into a grin and she waved enthusiastically. "Master Qui-Gon, you made it!"

"Ahsoka, I swear you're a foot taller than the last time I saw you," he told her, the words tumbling out before he thought about what he was going to say, hugging her with one arm against his side. She snuggled up to him and palmed the wrapped sweet he secretly pressed into her hand.

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows and mouthed, "Spoiled."

Qui-Gon shrugged, dug into his pocket and pulled out another candy. He held it out to Obi-Wan, who plucked it from Qui-Gon's fingers faster than a Kowakian monkey-lizard. "Bribery?" Obi-Wan asked, even as he pocketed the treat.

You need spoiling, too, was what Qui-Gon wanted to say. Instead, he just smiled.

Ahsoka already had the candy in her mouth. "These ones are my favourite," she said, her words muffled around sticky toffee. She really had grown taller; her montrals dug into his ribs before she let go of her grand-Master. "I'm sorry we didn't have time to visit the Room."

"Mark it on your calendar for next time. I planted a new flower bed."

The landing klaxon sounded as Ahsoka nodded enthusiastically. "I suppose that's us," Obi-Wan said with a small sigh.

Ahsoka shouldered her bag, then grabbed Obi-Wan's as well. "Bye, Master Qui-Gon."

"I'll see you soon, Ahsoka," he told her. The dread of deja vu was pressing against him, urging him to action in a way that was completely unlike the Force. He reached out and grabbed Obi-Wan's shoulder. "On second thought, stay."

Obi-Wan peered at him, partly curious and partly wistful. "You know I can't," he said softly. "If I don't go, someone else is on guard and tired."

Desperate to keep him here, Qui-Gon tightened his grip. " _You're_ on guard and tired, Obi-Wan."

"Yes, I am," Obi-Wan said with a rueful smile. He reached up and covered Qui-Gon's hand with his own, then carefully pried the older man's fingers from his shoulder. "But maybe I'm not as tired as someone else. I—I'll see you soon, Qui."

Ahsoka was already at the transport loading hatch, waving her arms like mad. "Come on, Master!"

Obi-Wan grabbed the antigrav cart and fiddled with the control before moving out onto the platform. "May the Force be with you," Qui-Gon rumbled.

"And you," replied Obi-Wan softly with only a brief glance back. Qui-Gon could see the regret in his eyes.

Unable to look away, unable to move his feet in any direction, Qui-Gon watched from the threshold as the redhead disappeared up the ramp. The ramp lifted and sealed the shuttle behind him, and the shuttle sat for a brief moment before cycling the engines and taking off. Qui-Gon watched the lights of the shuttle blur into the other moving, blinking lights of nighttime Coruscant with a deepening sense of dread.

"Oh, gods, Obi-Wan—"

The light came first, then the heat, and he could not finish before the exploding hyperdrive stole the hammering beat of his heart in his chest.

 

*

 

Landing on the floor was not the ideal way to wake up, nor was your cloned heart thudding against your ribcage a welcome morning sensation. Qui-Gon gasped for breath, fighting with the sheets that had wound around his limbs.

A nightmare.

He glanced at the chrono, which accused him of being three hours late for the war council meeting.

Again.

A nightmare.

Except his nightmares were never that vivid, never that detailed, and never truly remembered the next day. Even after Xanatos, the terror that haunted him during his sleep translated into nebulous, generalized panic when he woke. To have a nightmare once—twice?—so fresh and specific was strange and particularly upsetting, even before the content. A tiny voice inside him whispered an impossibility: it was not actually a dream.

He had lived this day before.

Impossible. Time did not work that way.

Qui-Gon groaned, untangled himself from his sheets, and made a decision. He dressed slowly, made himself a cup of tea, and skipped the war meeting altogether. He entered his office ten minutes early to the surprise of his secretary.

See handed him a datapad as he walked in. "Good morning, Master Jinn. Here's the daily report, and I've included the urgent and actionable items at the top."

"As usual," he said with an appreciative nod. "I can't tell anyone how good you are, See, or people are going to try to poach you."

"I've heard the horror stories from Council secretaries," See said. Her headtails shivered. "I'll stick with the spies, thanks."

"I don't want to be disturbed," he informed her. "No comms or visitors unless it's an emergency. As in, someone's on fire emergency, not what Mace Windu might consider an emergency."

"Yes, sir." Peering at him with her dark eyes, she asked hesitantly, "Did you sleep all right, Qui-Gon?"

He glanced up from the datapad. "No, I didn't, See," he replied quietly. "I'll be in my office."

"Yes, sir."

He skipped midmeal. He worked through the afternoon, reading intelligence reports and filing a few of his own, and thanked the Force for sending him a secretary who knew the meaning of _do not disturb_. When his eyes started to feel the strain even with his glasses, he pulled the frames from his face, crossed his arms on his desk, and rested his head on his forearms. _It was just a dream. A horrifying dream. The Force has said nothing of it_. He tried to reassure himself as his heavy lids closed and he drifted into a pleasantly empty sleep.

A gentle hand on his shoulder startled him awake, and See nearly leapt out of his reach as he flailed back in his chair. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Qui-Gon, but it's almost 2200 hours and you missed latemeal—"

" _Kark_ ," he snarled to himself, then made a soothing motion to his secretary. "No, not you, See, thank you for waking me—did you say 2200 hours?" His eyes flicked to the chrono, where it rolled over to 2158. He bit his tongue so hard in frustration that his mouth suddenly tasted metallic. " _Force damn it_."

He patted his pockets in search of his comm for a moment before remembering that he had dressed carefully this morning, not in a rush, and that the comm was safely tucked in his belt pouch. With a shaking hand, he thumbed the comm as a litany ran through his head— _a dream, only a dream, he's fine, he's going to be fine, just a dream, answer your comm_

The tinny voice sounded deeply annoyed. "Yes?"

"Obi-Wan." The name left his lips with a deep, relieved sigh. His pause went just a touch too long.

"Qui-Gon, I'm about to step onto the transport to the _Negotiator._ " Despite the casual exterior, Qui-Gon could hear the upset beneath.

"I'm so sorry I missed you today, Obi-Wan," he began.

"That's the loading ramp, this call's about to be cut off—"

"Obi-Wan—"

"You owe me latemeal next time I'm on planet," Obi-Wan said in a rush, as if he had not quite meant to say it. "May the Force be with you, Qui—"

The comm screeched and the floors and walls and ceilings swayed for a moment before buckling under the stress; something hard and sharp struck Qui-Gon on the back of the head and his vision exploded into phosphorescent prickles of black and white.

 

*

 

Hair. Floor. Throbbing pain in his hip. Binding sheets. Heart slamming into his ribs.

Qui-Gon did not even open his eyes before unleashing a litany of curses that would have made a Hutt blush.

Once could be a nightmare. Twice was a strange, but not unheard of coincidence, or his brain making a particularly sharp point. Three times the same ending to the same day?

Temporal physics had been his worst class as a Padawan, and he had done his damned best to forget the headache-inducing theories he had picked up. He needed—what? Facts? Confirmation?

Caffeine. Tea first, then temporal shenanigans.

He made himself a cup of strong sapir tea and drank it while standing nude in his tiny kitchen, burning his tongue in his haste even as his feet protested the cold tile. With the bitter dregs hitting his lips, he set the teacup upside down in the sink. On a whim, he flipped the cup back over and inspected the wet leaves sticking to the inside of the cup. A priestess on Jedha had once taught Padawan Jinn how to read tea leaves in the local fashion; Dooku had snorted in annoyance and left them to their folly.

The leaves were clear. Disaster. Death. Heartbreak and missed opportunities.

He nearly dropped the cup. With unsteady hands, he left it on the rim of the sink and went to fetch his comm.

"Shouldn't you be in a meeting?" Tahl sounded wryly amused.

"I-I'm not sure how to ask this," he replied, running a hand over his braided hair.

"The answer is no," she teased. "Whatever it is, the answer's no."

He swallowed. "Did you wake up with a strange feeling?"

"You'll have to be a little more specific, but hopefully not graphic," she said with a snort. "I had itchy feet this morning?"

"No, I mean…" When he trailed off, she huffed with impatience.

"Spit it out, old man."

"Do you have the feeling you've done today already?" The silence on the other end of the comm was deafening. Finally, he prodded. "Tahl?"

"No, Qui-Gon. I haven't had any deja vu or weird feelings from the Force. Are you feeling okay?" Now she was suspicious, and suspicious Tahl was like a dog with a particularly tasty bone.

"Yes, of course. I'll, ah, talk to you later. Jinn out." He stabbed the comm off before she could ask any more probing questions. He needed time, more time, to figure this out. Maybe some books on the subject? He opened the comm channel again, this time to See Uross. "Knight Uross?"

"Good morning, Master Jinn!" chirped his secretary. "Are you coming up directly from the meeting?"

"Ah, no, I'm not feeling well this morning," he lied smoothly.

"Anything serious?" she replied, implying a problem with his old injuries acquired in Theed.

"No, See, just a little under the weather. Send any emergency messages to my quarters."

"Will do. Feel better."

"Thank you, See. Jinn out."

Throwing on a pair of worn sleep pants and an old grey shirt, Qui-Gon sat down at his computer console and accessed the archive database. Absently, he put on his reading glasses, pleased that he remembered to keep a pair in his quarters and his office, and settled in for a deep search.

Three hours escaped his notice as he skimmed the database, pulling tempting titles only to find fiction instead of fact, or even scientific hypothesis. Every mention of time happening over again was the stuff of fantasy. As he clicked on the next item with a frustrated growl, his door chime shattered his concentration.

He abandoned his desk to unlock the door. Grimace melted into a small, bewildered smile. "What are you doing here?" he blurted out.

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow at him. "Good afternoon to you, too."

They stared at each other for an awkwardly long time before Qui-Gon's brain reasserted control. "Ah, come in, please."

"Thank you," murmured Obi-Wan as he slipped past his former master. His eyes darted furtively around the room before fixing upon the couch. "That's the one from our old rooms, isn't it?"

Qui-Gon grinned. "I bribed the quartermaster to move it."

Obi-Wan shrugged out of his cloak, tossed it over the back of the couch and flopped down with a delighted sigh. "It's exactly as I remember it. I think it missed me."

"Probably; no one sleeps on it anymore." Obi-Wan's eyes, smudged with purple exhaustion beneath, snapped to his for a split second before he began studying his fingernail. "So, what brings you to visit your decrepit old Master, anyway?"

"You are neither decrepit nor old, Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan said with a frown. "But you did miss the war council meeting this morning, and your secretary said you were feeling ill."

"So you're checking up on me?" replied Qui-Gon with a smile to take the sting out of the accusation.

"Yes," Obi-Wan said bluntly.

"Care for some tea?" Qui-Gon did not wait for an answer before shuffling into the kitchen and rummaging through his cupboard for his teapot. As he pulled the canister of Obi-Wan's favourite tea from the shelf, he heard rustling from the other room.

"Tea is a start," Obi-Wan said. He leaned against the doorjamb, arms crossed over his chest. "And then I want to know what's going on."

"What do you mean?"

Taking a few steps until they were nearly in each other's space, Obi-Wan narrowed his grey eyes at him. "You never admit you're sick. I had to practically sit on you to make you rest long enough for treatment when you caught the Dantarri flu. So are you actually not feeling well, or are you just playing hooky, Master Jinn?"

Qui-Gon could feel the warmth radiating off the younger man, and it occurred to him that it had been a very long time since anyone had been this close to him. Close enough to touch. Impulsively, he reached out and wound his arm around Obi-Wan's shoulders, pulling their foreheads together with the grin of a man with a plot. "Want to play hooky with me, Obi-Wan?"

Any other day, Qui-Gon might have missed the shiver that ran through Obi-Wan. Today, though, it meant that he was alive, and he was alive with Qui-Gon to enjoy it. He watched as the argument warred over the redhead's face: rejection due to all kinds of reasons—responsibilities, training his Padawan, take your pick—until finally a slow acceptance shone through those tired eyes. A little smile quirked his lips. "Just this once."

If he could smile any wider, his cheeks would hurt. Qui-Gon let his arm drop, hiding his reluctance, and finished preparing the tea. Obi-Wan slipped past him to stand at the sink. "Fascinating tea leaves," he said with a teasing voice before stealing a biscuit off the tea tray and leaving the kitchen.

Confused, Qui-Gon glanced at this morning's cup. He had placed it on the counter with the handle towards him, and Obi-Wan had looked at the leaves rotated from what Qui-Gon had seen. The priestess on Jedha insisted the way the person offered her the cup was crucial to the reading, because the meanings could change.

Romance. Joining. Courtship.

He shook his head with a moue of irritation. The leaves could not be both. Only the original reading would be valid, even if one believed in that sort of thing. He rinsed out the cup and left it to dry in the sink, then picked up his tea tray.

Obi-Wan was quieter than he usually was, staring into his teacup and nibbling his biscuit with absentmindedness. Finally, Qui-Gon set his cup down on the table and placed two fingers on the younger man's wrist. As if the contact were electric, Obi-Wan jerked out of his reverie and slopped tea all over his sleeve. "Sorry," murmured Qui-Gon. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Obi-Wan put down his cup with a little more force than was strictly necessary and wiped his hand on his trouser leg. "I shouldn't be so easily startled," he retorted. Running a hand through his hair, he sighed. "I'm just so—"

"Tired," Qui-Gon offered softly. Obi-Wan nodded numbly.

"I'm exhausted, Qui-Gon. I go for days without sleeping. Even if I do get a chance for a nap, I can't just go lie down. I have to make sure my men are provided for, I have to make sure Ahsoka is all right, she's a child in the middle of a warzone—"

"So were you."

"Not this kind of war," Obi-Wan said, shaking his head. "She's smart, and capable, but sometimes she takes risks that make my heart leap into my throat and I just want to strangle her for it, or lock her up so she never gets hurt, and sometimes I _yell_ at her, gods, Qui-Gon, I literally shouted at her for an hour after that mess on Gwori. She disobeyed my orders, and let herself be frozen in _carbonite_ for gods' sake, she could have died just from that, carbonite use in minors has a much higher fatality rate than in adults—"

"Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon reached over and wrapped his arm around Obi-Wan's shoulders. The younger man stiffened, but when Qui-Gon did not move away, he melted into Qui-Gon's side. Shuddering in the circle of Qui-Gon's arms, Obi-Wan buried his face into the side of Qui-Gon's chest, but his eyes were dry. "Obi-Wan, feel it then let it go."

"I should never have taken an apprentice." The words were muffled, but Qui-Gon could feel the movement of Obi-Wan's lips against the fabric of his shirt. "It wasn't the right time."

"I'll tell you a secret about apprentices," Qui-Gon rumbled softly, squeezing Obi-Wan a little closer and wrapping his other arm around him. "It's never the right time. There's always something coming up, or a dangerous mission around the corner. We trade that right time for the privilege of teaching, for the honour of having that person in our lives. Ahsoka is exactly the right apprentice for you, my dear Obi-Wan. It's possible she's a bit of Force-ordained retribution for all the grey hairs you gave me."

Obi-Wan snorted a laugh. His breath was warm. "I need to teach her patience."

"Every single teaching Master in the Jedi Order—past, present, and future—needs to teach their apprentice patience."

"I don't even have patience for myself," admitted Obi-Wan in a small voice. "I rush through my day. I don't think I've spellchecked a single report in the past month because there's no time. There's never enough time for the most basic of things. I haven't sat down for a meal in—" He cut himself off so abruptly Qui-Gon heard his teeth click together.

"You're not eating?" asked Qui-Gon softly, keeping the accusation out of his voice.

Obi-Wan was silent for a long time. The feeling of him struggling to admit it out loud finally faded as he said in a whisper, "Only when Cody puts a ration bar in my hand. There's never time."

Qui-Gon sighed deeply and briefly rested his cheek against the crown of Obi-Wan's head. He smelled of Jedi-issued shampoo and the underlying scent that was simply Obi-Wan. "That's unacceptable, Master Kenobi."

"I'm not a Master yet," protested Obi-Wan weakly.

"You need to take care of yourself," Qui-Gon murmured into the copper hair.

"People depend on me," sighed Obi-Wan. "Believe me, I know."

"You need to take care of yourself because you matter," Qui-Gon replied.

They sat for a long moment, silent and comfortably entwined. Qui-Gon ignored the shuddering breaths beneath his arms and wondered how long it had been since someone had touched Obi-Wan in a familiar, comforting way. His heart sank as he realized his former Padawan was living in circumstances similar to what Qui-Gon had experienced after Xanatos. Running from one assignment to another, constantly in danger, cut off from those who loved him—this was worse because Obi-Wan had not chosen it as a way of self-destruction, and he had the added responsibility of keeping both Ahsoka and his clone troops alive and well. Qui-Gon had set out into the galaxy with no value on his own life. Obi-Wan's sense of self-care had been forced to the lowest priority by the demands of the war. The urge to kidnap the man and hide until the war was over welled up rebelliously in his heart. Unacceptable. It was all unacceptable.

Qui-Gon slowly untangled himself, suddenly missing the warmth of Obi-Wan's hand against his ribs and head against his chest. Obi-Wan's face was dry, but he looked even more tired. "Stay here."

"Hmm?"

"I'll be right back. Do I have to lock the door so you won't leave?"

Obi-Wan offered a weak chuckle. "No, Qui-Gon. I'll stay. My transport doesn't leave until 2200. I was supposed to get another hour, but…" He shrugged.

With a smile, Qui-Gon dashed out of his quarters.

 

*

 

He stepped back into his rooms and froze. Obi-Wan was curled up on the couch, boots neatly arranged on the floor, fast asleep. With a relieved smile, Qui-Gon placed the food containers from the refectory on the kitchen counter and went back to check on his sleeping guest. His even, shallow breaths suggested a deep sleep. He had probably laid down the moment Qui-Gon's doors closed. Gently, Qui-Gon unfolded the old quilt folded over the back of the couch and draped it carefully over his friend. He turned off the lights and sat down at his computer terminal to continue his work.

The last item in his archival search popped up a few hours later to the grateful relief of his weary eyes. He skimmed it, frowned, then went back to read it again. An old digitized document, the original written on actual flimsi and kept in storage, described a story of a Jedi claiming to have lived the same day hundreds or thousands of times. Many of the words were missing, erased by time and exposure to ultraviolet light, leaving an intriguing mystery of the story's progress.

_Jedi Master T—— the Force has granted him ——— relive his day countless times. Some skepticism ——— purpose, the For———— He tells of different actions all lea———— same conclusion, every reprise. Master Ta——— believed it was a gift from the F———— that he must—————in order to—————resolve._

"Do what?" hissed Qui-Gon to himself. "Do _what?_ "

Fabric rustled from the couch, and Obi-Wan sat up muzzily. "Oh, gods," he said, glancing around at the darkened room. "How long was I out?"

Qui-Gon checked the chrono on his terminal. "It's 2000."

"I'm so sorry, Qui-Gon." An embarrassed tinge was surely creeping over his features, but in the darkened room, Qui-Gon could not see it.

"Sorry for what, having a nap on the Temple's most comfortable couch?" Qui-Gon chuckled. "Hardly a faux pas, Obi-Wan. Do you at least feel better?"

"A little," he replied, folding the quilt up and replacing it on the back of the couch. "I should go. Ahsoka's probably looking for me."

"I told her you were resting," Qui-Gon said softly. "She was glad to hear it and said she would meet your timing at the landing platform."

Pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes, Obi-Wan sighed. "Thank you."

"You're welcome to sleep here anytime," Qui-Gon said absently, but when Obi-Wan stilled completely, Qui-Gon cleared his throat and continued, "I brought us something to eat, so move your boots."

"Yes, Master," replied Obi-Wan with no little mockery.

Their meal consisted of reheated noodles with vegetables and a spicy sauce, which Obi-Wan ate like it was the finest dish ever created. His eyes closed with pleasure as he chewed, and Qui-Gon had to concentrate on his own meal just to tamp down the heat rising on his cheeks that had nothing to do with the pepper flakes. "By all the little gods, I've missed this," Obi-Wan groaned as he lifted another strand of thick noodle to his lips.

"If refectory food is enough to get you this excited about eating, I'm taking you out next time," Qui-Gon replied.

Even as Qui-Gon realized the implication of his statement, Obi-Wan was eyeing him with an unfamiliar look. "Dex's?"

"Nicer," replied Qui-Gon's mouth helpfully before his brain could catch up.

The tips of Obi-Wan's ears were red. _Oh, gods, I miscalculated, stupid mouth_ —"I'll hold you to that," replied Obi-Wan evenly as he sipped his water and studiously did not look at Qui-Gon. A small alarm chimed in Obi-Wan's pocket, and the younger man grimaced. "That's me. I have to be on the platform in forty-five." He stared longingly at the half-full container of noodles, and Qui-Gon passed him the box.

"Something for the road."

With a grateful smile, Obi-Wan collected his cloak and stomped his feet back into his boots. Qui-Gon followed him to the door. "Thank you, Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan said quietly. "For the nap, and the food, and," he paused slightly, "everything else." His eyes fixed upon Qui-Gon's, and they stood watching each other, not moving.

Finally, Qui-Gon blinked. "Ah, before you go—"

"Yes?" Obi-Wan's voice was a touch raspy.

"Have you felt anything strange today?"

The little wrinkle between Obi-Wan's brow appeared. "Strange? Strange how?"

"Deja vu?"

Obi-Wan shook his head. "Other than reliving countless naps I've had on that couch, I don't think so. Why?"

"Oh, I don't know," Qui-Gon replied, trying to sound dismissive. "Not important."

"Someone once told me to live in the moment," replied Obi-Wan with a grin. Qui-Gon could not remember the last time he had seen those dimples.

"Sound advice," Qui-Gon said, returning the smile. They stood for another moment, grinning like idiots, until Obi-Wan sighed.

"I'll see you soon, hopefully."

"May the Force be with you, Obi-Wan."

With a nod, Obi-Wan moved close enough to the door to trigger the sensor. He paused in the open doorway. "Ahsoka would be happy to see you before we leave. Platform—"

"Jenth-eight," finished Qui-Gon automatically. When Obi-Wan looked at him curiously, Qui-Gon added, "You said earlier. I'll clean up here and be there." He was not entirely sure why he felt the need to cover the knowledge of the landing platform number, but it seemed like the right thing to do. The Force was being strangely quiet. Obi-Wan ducked his head and hurried up the corridor.

 

*

 

Qui-Gon would have been early to meet Ahsoka and Obi-Wan had it not been for a 'lift error. He ended up one level above his intended destination, and the damned thing would not stop on the correct level. He punched in a maintenance request through his comm as he strode down the hall to the emergency access stairwell. The outline of his grand-Padawan was obvious even from the end of the corridor. "Ahsoka!" he called, not wanting to miss saying goodbye.

The Togruta turned and waved happily as he approached. "Hi, Master Qui-Gon! Here to see us off?" She eyeballed him expectantly, and he surreptitiously poked a wrapped candy into her cupped palm hiding behind her back.

"Of course," he replied smoothly while Obi-Wan shot him a supercilious look. "I didn't forget you," Qui-Gon reassured him, handing him a second sweet with his other hand.

Obi-Wan was trying to hide a smile, poorly, but he took the gift and squirrelled it away in his belt pouch.

"This is my favourite," Ahsoka said, mouth full of sticky candy.

It was as if someone smacked Qui-Gon over the head. This, this exact scene, came rushing back to him, and he visibly flinched. Ahsoka looked at him, nose wrinkled with concern. "You okay, Master Qui-Gon?"

"I don't suppose the two of you could postpone your shuttle?" he asked abruptly.

Obi-Wan was already shaking his head. "Admiral Block wanted to leave this morning. I already had to talk him out of it." The alarm sounded. "And we're off."

Ahsoka grabbed both of their bags and grinned at her grand-Master. "Bye! See you soon!"

"May the Force be with you," Qui-Gon said, trying to hide the desperate dread that was settling over his heart even as he spoke familiar words in a now-familiar situation. The Force itself was still. Waiting.

Together, Obi-Wan and Ahsoka hurried to the open loading door of the transport. Just as Obi-Wan stepped his toe on the ramp, Qui-Gon's feet began to move. "Obi-Wan, wait!" he yelled, waving his arm in the air like a lunatic.

Startled, Obi-Wan turned with a frown. He opened his mouth to reply.

Qui-Gon did not know which came first—the searing light, the deafening roar, or the blessed relief of no longer existing.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No matter what he did, the outcome was always the same.

The hair in his mouth finally pushed him over the edge. Balling up his sheets and hurling them into the corner of his bedroom, Qui-Gon wore a snarl and nothing else as he stalked into the 'fresher. He groped around the drawer beneath the sink, fished out a sharp pair of trimming scissors, and set to work. As the sink filled with long strands of brown and silver hair, his enraged brain helpfully suggested that his beard was the problem, snagging his hair every morning like a hook and loop fastener. With brutal efficiency, he made short work of the beard that had kept his jaw warm for at least twenty years. When he finally rinsed his razor and stiff lathering brush and wiped his face with a towel, Qui-Gon had to gape in horror at himself in the mirror.

At least his hasty mistake would not last much longer than 2200 hours.

He scoffed at his reflection one final time before dressing. He had already made two mistakes today, why not make it an even three?

Anger set to a low simmer, Qui-Gon strode through the halls of the Temple and burst into the conference room just as people were collecting their notes and rising from their chairs. Quick glances from the Jedi became jaw-dropping stares and stifled gasps of bewilderment. "We're all stuck in a time loop," Qui-Gon growled, ignoring the wide eyes of his peers.

At the head of the table, Mace had not taken his eyes off his stack of datapads. "You're l…" His pronouncement died on his tongue as the Korun's gaze flicked up and settled on the shorn spectacle of his friend. His dark eyes widened. "What."

"We're experiencing some kind of temporal anomaly. This day keeps repeating, over and over again," insisted Qui-Gon, slapping his hands on the table and leaning forward intently.

"That's impossible," someone whispered. Not a single Jedi had moved from the room; like statues of fascinated horror, they watched the spymaster unravel in real time.

"It's not. I've lived this exact day before."

"I think we'd all have noticed if you had shaved before," countered Mace.

Qui-Gon ignored the barb. "I wake up late, I miss the meeting, I get called to my office, and at 2200—" The gentle squeeze of a hand on his forearm caught him off guard. His teeth clacked together as he turned his face—gods, his face was cold—to find Obi-Wan at his elbow.

"What happens at 2200?" he asked softly, a worried note in his voice. His eyebrows had drawn together, and his grey eyes were surely searching the planes of Qui-Gon's face for a clue to his odd behaviour.

"You—" Qui-Gon began, but once again stopped himself. He could not bear to say it aloud, to admit to the Knight that he would die in a scant few hours.

"I go back to the _Negotiator_ ," said Obi-Wan, "at 2300."

"Admiral Block will request an earlier departure," whispered Qui-Gon as the memory returned to him.

From the end of the table, Mace scoffed. "Kenobi, please escort Master Jinn to the Halls of Healing and ensure he stays there long enough for a full medical evaluation."

"I'm not sick, Mace, and I'm not crazy!" cried Qui-Gon, slamming a fist against the table. Several Jedi jumped; their faces were nervous. "We are stuck in this same day, and we have to get out."

Mace rose from his seat. "If you're neither sick nor crazy, the medical staff will determine that, and then we can talk about days repeating themselves, Qui-Gon."

The fingers on his forearm tightened slightly. "Come on, Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan said in a soft undertone. "Come with me. Please."

Eyes narrowed, Mace was studying him closely with pursed lips. He would not be moved to action. Qui-Gon let himself be ushered out of the room by his former apprentice. Once the doors closed behind them, Obi-Wan gave Qui-Gon's arm a squeeze and let go. "I don't need to go to the Halls," Qui-Gon told him grumpily.

Obi-Wan peered up at him. "Maybe you don't, but shouldn't we check, just to make sure?" When Qui-Gon hesitated, the copper-haired Knight offered a small, cajoling smile. "What if I ask you nicely? A last request before I go back to the front?"

"Not the last request I would have hoped for," muttered Qui-Gon automatically. A fierce blush spread over Obi-Wan's fair skin, and Qui-Gon cleared his throat to cover his own embarrassment. "I mean, yes, fine, I'll go if you insist."

"I insist," replied Obi-Wan, studiously not looking at Qui-Gon.

The Halls of Healing were running at capacity, full of Jedi and clone soldiers whose injuries needed more care than what was available in front line medical tents or hospital ships. Padawans and their Healer Masters alike dashed and hurried, ignoring usual Jedi dignity for medical efficiency. Standing in the doorway, Qui-Gon balked. "On second thought, perhaps I shouldn't disturb the Healers. They have more important things to deal with than me."

"Not at all," crowed a familiar voice. From behind the reception desk, Anakin Skywalker made a beeline for them with a smile on his face. He stopped suddenly, staring at Qui-Gon's bare face for longer than was politic, then covered with an even wider smile. "Good to see you, Qui-Gon. You too, Obi-Wan."

"I'm afraid this isn't a social call," replied Obi-Wan ruefully.

Instantly, Anakin's face became serious. He pulled a stylus from a hidden pocket of his dark brown Healer's tunic and raised his datapad. "What's the issue?" he asked, skimming his gaze over Qui-Gon. "The usual?"

"No, it's not the old injury," replied Qui-Gon. "And my heart is fine."

Sensing Qui-Gon's reluctance, Obi-Wan supplied, "Master Windu has ordered a full medical examination for Master Qui-Gon."

"I can come back later. You seem busy," added Qui-Gon hopefully.

Under his breath, Obi-Wan breathed, "I insist."

"Ah, I see the order's come through here," Anakin murmured as he checked his datapad. "Follow me, and we'll get you set up."

"How's Plo?" asked Qui-Gon as the tall, curly-haired young man led them along a weaving path that dodged around equipment and people.

Anakin shot him a rueful smile. "Not here," he replied. "But he basically told me he'd send me back to the crèche if I didn't finish this stint with the Healers."

"You don't want to take your Trials?" Obi-Wan asked, surprised.

With a snort of amusement, Anakin ran a hand along his long Padawan braid. "Of course I do. Sometimes I feel like I'm the oldest apprentice in Jedi history."

"You're five years younger than I was when I was Knighted," retorted Obi-Wan dryly.

Anakin laughed a little awkwardly. "Ah. Oh. I didn't mean—I mean—right." He stopped and pulled back a privacy curtain, revealing an empty bed. "I just didn't want to leave Master Plo out there by himself. He gets a bit reckless without me there. Have a seat, Qui-Gon, and a Healer will be with you as soon as possible. I have to get back to it."

"Of course. Thank you, Ani."

Anakin smiled at the childhood nickname. "Tell Snips I said hi."

"I will," replied Obi-Wan, then added with a sly twinkle in his eye, "Tell Senator Amidala we send our best wishes."

Anakin started, but covered it quickly by fiddling with the life sign monitor by the bed. "I'll let her know next time I run into her."

"Thank you, Anakin." Obi-Wan hid his smile by brushing a hand over his beard. Anakin pulled the privacy curtain closed as he ducked out while Qui-Gon hopped up on the bed. "Master Plo is probably getting less sleep with him on Coruscant," he murmured conspiratorially.

"That's why I kept you around," Qui-Gon said quietly. "You kept me from getting reckless."

"I know," replied Obi-Wan with a little smile. "That's why I didn't press the issue more than was strictly necessary." He moved closer, hesitated, and took one more inching step. Absently, Obi-Wan brought his hand up to touch Qui-Gon's smooth cheek; as if realizing the intimacy of the gesture, he paused, letting his fingers hang in the air. "You look so strange."

Qui-Gon could not take his eyes off the younger man. "Go on, then."

With a mixed expression of disbelief and mischief, Obi-Wan gently ran a single finger along Qui-Gon's jaw. The touch left a line like a burning brand on Qui-Gon's skin, but it was Obi-Wan who hid a tiny shudder. He reached back and brushed his fingertips through the short, uneven hairs at the back of Qui-Gon's neck. "I always wondered if you had a cleft chin," he murmured. "I was wrong."

"Sorry to disappoint."

"No, I—" Before Obi-Wan could finish, the sound of the curtain swishing open startled them both; Obi-Wan practically leapt away while Qui-Gon glared at the intruder. "I, er, have some reports to finish up. I'll just go get them and I'll meet you back here."

He dashed out of the Halls of Healing so quickly Qui-Gon could not even call after him. He pinned the Bothan Healer with a fiery glare. "Get this over with."

 

What felt like hours crawled by before the curtain surrounding his bed parted, revealing not the expected Healer with his results, but a bewildered Noorian Archivist. "Scuttlebutt said you were in here, but I had to see it to believe it," Tahl announced, sliding up next to him.

"And?" he groused before her long, elegant fingers seized his face.

"Kriffing hells," she breathed as she efficiently traced the planes of his face then tousled his chopped hair. "Oh! You're like a naked mole rat!"

He batted her hands away. "I thought we agreed you'd warn a man before doing that," he grumbled as she bent double in silent laughter.

"You're like a baby," she managed between silent guffaws. "I haven't seen your chin in decades, Qui-Gon!"

"Is this the only reason you came down here?" he snapped.

She wiped away a pair of tears from her sightless eyes and managed, mostly successfully, to smooth her face. "There are rumours going around that you finally cracked under the pressure of being the spymaster and started ranting at Mace Windu." When he did not reply, she lifted her eyebrows. "That's not true, is it?"

"I don't think I was ranting," he protested.

"But you've lost it?"

"No!" he retorted automatically, then added, "Maybe."

"You've been under a lot of stress lately."

He glared at her. "We're fighting a war, Tahl. We're all under a lot of stress."

"Not all of us chopped off all our hair and yelled at the Master of the Order in front of a room full of witnesses."

"Has anything felt familiar today?" he asked abruptly. "Has anything felt weird, or like you've done something before?"

"Of course," she said with a shrug, and a sudden hope lifted in his chest.

"Really?"

Tahl patted him on the shoulder with patronizing reassurance. "I'm blind, Qui-Gon. My routine, my surroundings, my work—they're all familiar. As for weird, well, this encounter is certainly getting there."

The small spark of hope was extinguished with his heavy sigh. He really was alone in this torment, or at least, he had the unique torment of knowing it was happening. Before he could brush off his query, his comm chirped. "Yes?" he snapped, too jangled and irritable to hide it.

"Er, I'm sorry, Qui-Gon," came Obi-Wan's hesitant voice. "Admiral Block—"

"Requested an earlier departure, I know." His words were too harsh, he realized too late. Obi-Wan's pause on the other end was noticeable.

"How did you know?"

Qui-Gon had a moment's war between insisting the truth about the temporal anomaly and wanting to just get through the rest of the day without having his sanity questioned by anyone, including himself. In the end, he decided making Obi-Wan worried and uncomfortable was not going to help matters. "Admirals always want to leave sooner," he said lightly. "It's in their nature."

"Oh. Yes, of course. Well, I have to move up my schedule for the day. I'm sorry to abandon you to the Healers." The next bit came out in a bit of a rush, as if Obi-Wan was not completely sure he wanted to say it aloud. "Maybe have the beard back next time I'm in-Temple."

Tahl's eyebrows climbed into her hair. Smirking, she leaned into Qui-Gon's space and purred, "May the Force be with you, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon poked her in the shoulder with two fingers, not ungently, but her smirk just spread.

"Tahl? Oh! You're there with Qui-Gon. Excellent, yes, well, keep him company for me, will you?" Qui-Gon could practically hear the Knight blushing and wondered if the tips of his ears were red.

"Don't worry. I'll take good care of him for you," replied Tahl, her voice even and serious despite her delighted, conniving grin.

"Good, yes, thank you, Tahl. And say hello to Bant from me when you hear from her."

"Of course I will, Obi-Wan. Stay safe."

Obi-Wan paused, as if weighing his desired words against the listening audience, then said in a professional, clipped voice, "Kenobi out."

Adding disappointment to his general irritation and malaise, Qui-Gon shoved his comm back into his belt pouch and tried to ignore the wheedling look crossing Tahl's amber features. "Tahl," he growled warningly. "Don't even start."

 

Poked and prodded and scanned and subjected to a barrage of intrusive, banal questions, Qui-Gon finally sat on the medical bed with his arms crossed viciously against his ribs, glaring at Mace Windu and the Bothan Healer Shass Ru'laik. "Well?" Qui-Gon snapped. The light in the Halls had dimmed as the sun set over an hour ago, and he was ready to run for platform jenth-eight, medical gown be damned.

Shass swivelled her head from her grumpy patient to the stone-faced Korun Master. "There's nothing wrong with you."

A frown crept over Mace's dark features. "Psychologically?"

Shass flicked her eyes over her datapad and shrugged. "Physically. Psychologically. There are no outliers in any of his test results when compared to his last physical. His replacement heart's in peak condition." With a pointed look for both of them, she added, "He's fine, and he's taking up a bed." A knot of worry unravelled in Qui-Gon's chest at her words, only to be replaced with a new one. He was not going insane, but that meant that they really were all reliving the same day over and over again and he was the only one who remembered.

"Are you completely sure there's nothing—" Mace began, but the Healer turned her furry moue of displeasure on him.

"I've never been so sure in my life, Master Windu. Now both of you, get out. I have actual patients to attend to."

Qui-Gon slapped his hands on the bed and fixed Mace with a gloating smirk. "You heard the Healer, Mace."

"I'll have to deal with you in the morning," Mace grumbled. "Come by my office and we'll talk." The Korun looked exhausted; the slope of his shoulders beneath his robes spoke of immense responsibility. Qui-Gon bit off his snarky reply about tomorrows as he remembered that Depa was in the thick of fighting on Mace's homeworld.

"Tomorrow," agreed Qui-Gon absently, gathering up his robes to change as Mace slipped away to put out another fire.

Instead of racing for the landing platform, Qui-Gon walked slowly to his quarters and lay down on his couch. He pressed his palms against his eyes and ignored the chirp of his comm as the chrono rolled over 2200.

 

*

 

He lost count of how many mornings he woke abruptly, escaped hair in his mouth, tangled in his sheets, and sprawled on the floor in an indignant heap. Every single morning, the sharp memory of dying—of watching Obi-Wan die—seared into his brain reminded him of his failure to fix _whatever the karking hells this was_. Dozens upon dozens of mornings melted into hundreds, and with each rude awakening, the hope in his heart of ever escaping this nightmare drained a little more.

No matter what he did, the outcome was always the same.

He could hole up in his room, research temporal anomalies like a hermit, and they would still die.

He could spend the entire day in his office, doing his job and filing reports, and they would still die.

He could have firstmeal with Obi-Wan, midmeal with Obi-Wan, lastmeal with Obi-Wan, and they would still die.

He had tried, gods, had he tried everything he could think of to stop the explosion. He had tried grounding the shuttle. He had alerted Temple security. He had called a second shuttle, a third, had even offered to fly them up to the Negotiator himself. He had tried explaining himself to Mace, to the war council, so many times that he had a word-perfect speech timed to finish before Mace called for a medical exam. He had tried to convince Admiral Block not to leave early. He had tried to convince Admiral Block to leave even earlier. No matter what action he took, or did not take, the day ended with the same tragic consequences and began anew.

Despite the results of his countless medical exams—he had stopped telling everyone about the loop, just to stop the onslaught of pointless medical tests—he was beginning to feel a touch insane. More than a touch, if he was feeling particularly honest about it.

Every single loop he asked himself why—why him, why now, why this day? Neither hints nor answers were forthcoming.

The only clue came on the faded piece of flimsi. Marching into the Archives instead of his war council meeting, Qui-Gon headed straight for the librarian's desk and offered the reference needed to pull the original flimsi. After weeks of studying the handwritten note of faded ink to no avail, he was in a particularly foul mood. He slammed a datapad on the books stacked in front of the surprised Rodian wearing a junior librarian's stole. "I need this pulled from artifact storage," he told him, "yesterday."

The Rodian's eyes bugged out just a touch more, before nodding mutely and tapping the commands into the library system. Qui-Gon watched him with a keen eye until the poor librarian asked in a weak voice, "Will you wait, Master Jinn?"

"Only for fourteen and a half minutes, because I know that's how long it will take for your page to pull the document," snapped Qui-Gon irritably. About fifteen loops ago he had pulled out his chrono and timed the whole affair.

A terse, gravelly voice behind him barked, "Out."

He whirled to find Jocasta Nu glaring at him, hands on her hips. "I need that document," he retorted.

"Get out, Qui-Gon Jinn, and do not darken my doorstep until tomorrow," she hissed.

"Tomorrow?" A single, humourless laugh escaped his lips, and her eyebrows drew further down.

"You may hold the rank of Jedi Master, but no one talks to my librarians with such disrespect. Unless it is a matter of life or death, get out of my Archives."

"It's a matter of life or death," he stated flatly, then muttered, "every time."

She smiled, and it was terrifying to behold. "Then I'll courier the document to your office. In the meantime, get out of the Archives before I haul your arse out with a judicious application of my thumb and forefinger against your ear." Not once did she raise her voice, or lose that tight, toothy smile that did not reach her eyes. He wondered for a brief moment if she sharpened her hair sticks. Qui-Gon threw up his hands and stalked out of the Archives.

In the middle of the corridor, he stopped and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. He needed a break. A chance to do something, anything, other than run around with total futility and attempt to prevent a disaster or stare at the same faded scrawl on flimsi, mulling over the vague words until he tore it into tiny pieces out of sheer frustration and anger. Shredding that flimsi was sometimes the highlight of this monstrous day.

"Qui-Gon?" The vaguely amused, mostly concerned voice of his former apprentice drew him out of his spiralling self-pity. He dropped his hands to find bright grey eyes under copper hair peering at him curiously. "Are you alright?"

Qui-Gon should have been asking Obi-Wan that question. The Knight was still too thin, too pale, limbs held with the determination to not let exhaustion win. It seemed he looked a little more worse for wear with every loop. The sight of him stabbed Qui-Gon in his cloned heart every single time and spurred him to find a solution to all of this, and soon. "No, I'm not," Qui-Gon admitted, but continued on even as Obi-Wan opened his mouth to voice his worry, "but I have an idea that might make it better."

With a raised eyebrow, Obi-Wan replied wryly, "And what would that be?"

"It's a surprise." A slow smile spread over Qui-Gon's face. "Come on."

"I have to—"

"No, you don't. Ahsoka is spending what precious little time she gets with her friends, and I know all of your reports are already finished. You can spellcheck them later."

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "How did you—"

_Kark._ He had had this conversation, or something akin to it, so many times that he forgot Obi-Wan did not remember. Thinking fast, he said, "Because you're you, Obi-Wan. You always have your work done, and you always leave the spellchecking until just before you submit it. Am I wrong?"

Ducking his head a bit to hide his self-deprecating smile, Obi-Wan replied, "I suppose not."

"Then come with me." Qui-Gon reached behind Obi-Wan and pressed his hand to the man's shoulder for a moment. Together they ambled down the middle of the corridor, passing only maintenance droids and a few older Initiates running errands.

"Gods, this place is eerie when it's empty," breathed Obi-Wan, then looked surprised that he had spoken aloud. "I mean, there are so few people here—"

"I know what you mean," Qui-Gon assured him. "The Temple used to hum with the feeling of everyone here. I could close my eyes and let the feeling of thousands of Jedi wash over me, and it was…comforting. These days it feels like an empty shell. A transient stop instead of a home."

"Sometimes I feel like that, too," whispered Obi-Wan, so quietly that Qui-Gon was not certain he was supposed to have heard him.

That's it. Determination, grim and hard and insistent, rose up in him like bile. He needed a break, and so did Obi-Wan. If he could not solve this godsforsaken loop problem, he could at least ensure that Obi-Wan was fed, and rested, and cared for. Maybe he would not look so miserable next loop. His hand slid up to rest on Obi-Wan's shoulder, and he squeezed the flesh beneath the thick layers of wool and raw silk gently. For the briefest of moments, Obi-Wan seemed to lean into the touch; Qui-Gon warred with himself over leaving his hand where it was and letting it brush down his back and away. Whatever consequences they might face from walking so familiarly through the Temple would no longer exist by 2200 tonight. His hand stayed where it was, and beneath his touch, Obi-Wan's muscles relaxed.

They had almost reached the main entrance of the Temple before Obi-Wan's curiosity finally won. "Where are we going?"

Qui-Gon smiled. Not where are you taking me. "Out for a meal."

A tiny frown crept over his features. "If my memory serves, I owe you a meal, and besides, it's not even midday."

"It's not about owing," Qui-Gon said with a bit of fond exasperation. "I haven't seen you in person"—since yesterday—"in longer than I'd like, and if I can't spoil you, who can I spoil?"

"You do a pretty good job with Ahsoka," Obi-Wan said wryly. "That girl could ask for a moon and I think you'd pull strings to get it for her."

"Depends on what she needs the moon for."

"As if you'd ask first."

They chuckled together, and Qui-Gon finally let his arm drop as foot traffic began to increase past the Temple security corridor. Ducking around knots of tourists taking pics and holovids of the Temple, the two Jedi did not go unnoticed. A child shrieked with excitement upon seeing their distinctive robes, and the crowd surrounding her turned towards them. Suddenly, an influx of offworlders wanted to take a picture with the Jedi; Obi-Wan's eyes darted, looking for an escape, and Qui-Gon stepped forward even as he nudged Obi-Wan to keep walking. "My apologies, but we are on business of some importance and critical timings. We cannot stop for pictures today." The child's bottom lip popped out in protest, and he smiled apologetically at her. "I'm sorry, little one. Not today."

He brushed past a few Togruta who were standing entirely too close and caught up with Obi-Wan a minute later. "You must have run out of there," Qui-Gon admonished upon realizing the distance the younger man had crossed.

Obi-Wan ran a hand through his hair, mussing the red strands in a way that made Qui-Gon's fingers itch to fix. "I-I don't like crowds," he admitted.

Qui-Gon frowned slightly. "Since when?"

"Somewhere between Melida/Daan and the Stark War," he replied, swallowing hard and looking everywhere but at Qui-Gon. He plastered on a fake smile. "So where are we off to, then?"

Qui-Gon pointed up the walkway ahead, and they fell into step. "You never let it show," Qui-Gon rumbled. He should let it go, let Obi-Wan have his secrets, but he just could not let it lie. Not today.

"No, I didn't," agreed Obi-Wan. "Other concerns were more important than my comfort."

He was right. In the life they had chosen—been chosen—to lead, service was the ultimate requirement. The mission came before anything else, and both of them had the scars to prove it. "I might have spared you, even just a little," said Qui-Gon quietly.

Obi-Wan simply shrugged. "We can't do it over again, so there's no use expounding upon it."

Qui-Gon motioned to turn left. "What would you do over?" he asked thoughtlessly.

"What?"

"If you could do something again, fix it," explained Qui-Gon lamely, suddenly regretting the question at all. Too personal, too painful—Jinn, you idiot, what were you thinking?

"Nothing." Obi-Wan's mouth was set in a determined line, but Qui-Gon sensed no deception.

"Nothing?"

Shaking his head, Obi-Wan said, "Nothing. There's no point trying to consider something like that. You could do the same day over a million times and never find the perfect solution. Solve every problem, save everyone, make the galaxy a perfect place for all? No single person could do that in a single day, no matter how many times you tried."

Qui-Gon's feet stuttered to a stop. He stood in the middle of the street, gaping at his former apprentice and trying not to quietly panic. For all he was the one aware of their current temporal predicament, Qui-Gon wondered if this off-hand comment was the solution. Maybe solving the problem of dying every evening was not the thing that he should be worried about. Nothing he had said or done had stopped the sun setting on tragedy, so maybe it was time to focus on something else. Like the redheaded Knight who needed the reminder that he was a person.

Obi-Wan walked about twenty feet before realizing he was alone. Turning around, his eyebrows drew together in concern. "Qui-Gon? What is it? Did I say someth—"

"You're a very wise man, Obi-Wan Kenobi," Qui-Gon said, hurrying to catch up. "Wiser than your old Master."

He rolled his eyes. "You're not old. I'm going to start charging you a credit every time you say it."

"If you do, Dex's will be the only place I can afford to take you." Gesturing slightly to the recessed doorway, Qui-Gon waited long enough to be rewarded with a sharply raised eyebrow from his companion.

"Seriously?"

"I'm spoiling you, remember?" Qui-Gon did not even get the chance to open the door; it slid open to reveal a cool-faced Twi'lek hostess wearing a conservative black dress. A minute of solid negotiating earned him a private table without a reservation. The Jedi sat in a dimly-lit, plush booth that was designed for private conversation. The dimensions of the seating and the shape of the table forced them to sit with their thighs barely brushing.

Obi-Wan picked up a menu, a single piece of thick flimsi with exactly one dish listed on it, and pretended to study it carefully. "Qui-Gon?"

"Hmm?" Flipping the flimsi over only revealed the restaurant logo, and he had not brought his reading glasses.

"Why have you brought me to one of the most expensive dining establishments in the Temple district? Normally they serve senior Senators." A small frown tugged the corners of his mouth down. "Rich senior Senators."

Qui-Gon leaned over slightly to murmur in Obi-Wan's ear, "Because as the Order's spymaster, I have an expense account. On paper, today I am wining and dining General Kenobi for the sake of the war effort." The sudden stiffening of Obi-Wan's spine did not go unnoticed at the use of his title, so Qui-Gon added, "But that's just so the budgetary committee doesn't come after me demanding itemized receipts."

A tiny huff of laughter escaped Obi-Wan's lips. A server came by with fizzy water and two miniscule plates of fanciful appetizers, then disappeared back into the dark establishment. "You know," Obi-Wan said wryly, "at least at Dex's you can order what you actually want to eat."

"As if we've ever walked in there and not had random plates of food shoved in our direction," retorted Qui-Gon as he poked his fork at a delicate red spiral that turned out to be seaweed. "But if Dex's is what you really want, I'll take you there next time."

Kark. He had meant next loop, but now Obi-Wan was glancing at him out of the corner of his eye with great suspicion. "Next time? At this rate, we will have a permanent imbalance of meals," he said with the airy lightness he acquired when he wanted to start digging for the truth. "Unless you have an ulterior motive?"

"Perhaps," teased Qui-Gon, enjoying the reddish tinge creeping up Obi-Wan's ears, visible even in the poor light. He decided to take pity on the younger man. "So, where is the _Negotiator_ off to next?"

Obi-Wan dodged the question by making a face. "Did you know they've started calling me that?"

"I herd spies, Obi-Wan," replied Qui-Gon with a small grin. "I hear everything now."

"Have you also heard that I hate it?" he said sourly, fiddling with his glass.

"There are worse nicknames."

"If I were truly a negotiator, Qui-Gon, I wouldn't have to do it standing on the deck of a fully armed Star Destroyer." He dragged his finger through the ring of condensation on the smooth table. "We shouldn't even—bah!" His teeth clacked together as he shut his mouth. Qui-Gon could see the tension creep over him.

"I hope you know that you can talk to me," he rumbled quietly. "Whatever you want to say, Obi-Wan, I'll listen."

"The irony of confiding in the Order's spymaster is not lost on me," Obi-Wan drawled, finally swivelling his head to look Qui-Gon in the eye.

"I don't see any spies here," Qui-Gon said softly with an upward tug of his lips. "I see two friends sharing a meal, without any of the baggage associated with our positions."

Obi-Wan settled his hands in his lap and turned his face to stare at his plate of seaweed. "Watching men be slaughtered is not baggage," he murmured, his voice hard. "We are fighting a pointless, useless war, and when it's all over, how can any Jedi say their hands are clean?"

For a long moment, Qui-Gon said nothing. The sheer heartbreak, the bitterness in Obi-Wan's words sank into his bones. He had no answer, not like when he was the teaching master and had a mysterious platitude for every occasion. Finally, he said softly, "We could leave."

"The food's already here."

Qui-Gon shook his head minutely. "That's not what I meant. We could leave, you and I."

"Abandoning our posts won't solve this mess," Obi-Wan replied, keeping his voice low. "If there's no one to fight, no one to argue and question, nothing changes. I have to make sure something changes."

As the server slid two elaborately plated meals in front of them, Qui-Gon kept silent. They ate quickly, and as they made their way back to the temple, Obi-Wan made his excuses. There was a tightness around his eyes that distracted Qui-Gon enough to nod and bid him farewell; he watched the redhead climb the Grand Stair, tracking the tired slope of his shoulders beneath layers of wool and raw silk. At the top of the stairs, Obi-Wan paused and glanced back. He offered Qui-Gon a small, but genuine smile, before hurrying away.

Qui-Gon's heart clenched in his chest. He could not bear to see that expression on the other man's face.

He holed up in his quarters for the rest of the day, considering Obi-Wan and tracing the faded script on the flimsi with his fingers. He did not even notice the sun setting or the chrono marking 2210.

 

*

 

Hair. Sheets. Floor.

Qui-Gon was frankly amazed that his hip had not developed a permanent bruise. He opened a comm call before he even opened his eyes.

The young voice on the other end seemed surprised. "Is everything okay, Master Qui-Gon?"

"You make it sound like I only ever call you when there's a problem, Ahsoka."

"Well, the last few times—"

"Were Order business, my dear grand-Padawan. This is decidedly not."

"Oh!" The Togruta perked up instantly, and Qui-Gon smiled. Playing the part of indulgent grand-Master had never really appealed to him until he actually had a grand-Padawan to spoil, and now it was going to pay off. "Then what's up?"

"I'm making tea and I have no one to drink it with."

Ahsoka stifled a snort. "That's terrible, Master."

"Yes, it is, and I have an entire plate of biscuits that need eating."

"How awful for you!"

"It absolutely is, but fortunately I know a thoughtful and helpful young Jedi who might help me."

He could practically hear her grin. She enjoyed this game as much as he did. "And who might that be?"

"Surely you could see if Padawan Offee is available? I think she'll enjoy these ginger biscuits."

Faintly, a second, muffled voice joined the transmission. "You two are ridiculous."

"Shh, Barriss," hissed Ahsoka away from the comm. "When shall I come over, Master Qui-Gon?"

"I'll see you in twenty minutes. I don't have time to waste today."

"Sure thing, Master!"

One thing could be said of Obi-Wan's influence on the ebullient, impatient, and occasionally reckless Ahsoka Tano: she had learned to be prompt. Exactly nineteen and a half minutes later, Qui-Gon's door chime rang out. "Come in," he called, setting the tea service on his low table in front of the couch.

Ahsoka darted in, lips twitching with a barely-restrained smile. She offered him a perfect Padawan's bow as the doors closed behind her. "Hi, Master Qui-Gon."

He quirked his eyebrow at her. "Is that how you greet your old grand-Master?"

Chuckling, she stepped into his embrace and hugged him fiercely, careful of his old wound. It would not be long before her montrals topped him in height, and the thought made him oddly sad until he remembered that at this rate, she would never age another day. He stomped on that thought before it poisoned him. "It's good to see you," she said into his robes before taking a seat on the couch.

"Here," he motioned to a cup filled with dark, bitterly fragrant liquid. "I've heard that Obi-Wan's campaign to turn you onto tea has been unsuccessful."

Her bright blue eyes were plaintive. "It just tastes like burnt leaves in hot water, no matter what kind he says it is."

"Then you shall have caff and be slightly less sophisticated than the rest of your lineage."

Pulling a sarcastic face, Ahsoka picked up her caff and added an inappropriate number of sugar cubes. "So what did you want to talk about?"

"I can't just spend some quality time with my favourite grand-Padawan?"

"I'm your only grand-Padawan." The familiar reply with its accompanying eye roll was ruined by her secretly pleased smile. "Besides, you're the spymaster. All you do is work, and I don't think you'd take time off just to see me."

Suppressing a sigh, Qui-Gon busied himself with his tea. Any other day, and she would be right. "Today I'm taking time off," he admitted, "and I would love to spend all of my time with you, child."

"But?" she drawled.

"When did you get so perceptive?" he grumbled, taking a sip of tea too early and scalding the tip of his tongue.

Her smooth brow furrowed. "I mean no disrespect, Master, but you obviously called me here about something important."

"You're right. I did, and I don't have time to be coy about it." He took a breath and gazed evenly at her to catch her reaction. "It's Obi-Wan. You're his apprentice, Ahsoka, and the two of you have been working in a very unusual and highly stressful situation." She nodded, watching him carefully with her caff cradled in her orange palms. "I know he's not taking care of himself."

The sudden, stricken look on the poor girl's face nearly broke Qui-Gon's heart. "I'm sorry, Master Qui-Gon, I am. I've tried to suggest that he take breaks, but he never does. I've brought him food and ration bars, but he never sits down to eat, and I think he just puts the ration bars in his pocket and forgets about it. I'm pretty sure he doesn't sleep; he just disappears to meditate for twenty minutes when we're aboard ship. I don't know what else to do! I—"

"Ahsoka, no," Qui-Gon said gently, taking the cup from her before her trembling fingers spilled hot caff on her lap. "It's not your fault. Not at all. Obi-Wan can be very stubborn, and very single-minded. It shouldn't be on you to make sure he's meeting the minimum of self-care."

"But I'm his Padawan," she retorted, scrubbing away angry tears before they fell. "We're a team. He takes care of me, and I take care of him. That's how it's supposed to work."

"That's true, but he's also the adult Jedi Knight who should know better." He had to bite his tongue to prevent further ranting about children fighting in a war. _Focus. One problem at a time_.

She fell silent, picking at a loose thread on the couch upholstery. When she finally spoke, her voice was small. It reminded him of how young she actually was, despite her experiences as a Jedi Commander. "I think he's sad."

"Why do you think that?"

"When we meditate, he feels…heavy. He only makes jokes when we're heading into a fight. He never smiles anymore." She paused, thinking, then amended, "No, I saw him smile the other day. He was reading a letter. I think it was from you."

"How did you know it was my letter?"

"You're the only one who sends encrypted text instead of holorecordings," she told him.

"Ah."

"Whenever we get a data packet, I know there's a letter from you because he seems happier for the rest of the day, I think," she said slowly, picking up her caff once more and sipping the sweetened brew. This unintentional revelation created a flutter in his heart that he had not expected. He must have been frowning at his tea, because she added, "Is that bad?"

"No, Ahsoka. No, I needed to make a decision, and you've helped me do that." He reached over and offered her a plate of round, sugar-dusted ginger cookies. "So, finish your caff, take these with you to share with Barriss, and enjoy the rest of your day."

She grinned at him, revealing her sharp canines. "Thanks, Master Qui-Gon."

"I expect a letter from you before you get back to the Temple this time."

Draining her caff, Ahsoka nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, grand-Master."

 

He took his time. He preempted See's call and told his bewildered secretary to take the day off. Showered, perfectly dressed, hair plaited back in a braid that draped onto his chest, Qui-Gon waited outside the war council meeting until Obi-Wan finally emerged. The Knight glanced up from his datapad at the sound of his name. A smile broke over his tired face. "Qui-Gon!" Lowering his voice, he said, "Weren't you supposed to be in that meeting?"

"I had other pressing matters this morning," Qui-Gon replied. "Join me?"

Obi-Wan eyed him a little suspiciously. "To do what? I have about two dozen reports that need review—"

"Not today," retorted Qui-Gon as he started down the hall. To his satisfaction, Obi-Wan followed.

"It has to be today. We leave tonight, and Ahsoka—"

"I know full well that your reports are finished and perfect, so stop fussing over them. Ahsoka is enjoying some well-earned time off with her friends, Master Kenobi. Your Padawan is setting a good example that you would do well to follow." Qui-Gon grinned and quirked his eyebrow. "Join me?"

Obi-Wan sighed, but his exasperation was forced. "Oh, all right. Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise."

A familiar voice hailed Qui-Gon from behind. "Master Jinn!" called Mace Windu, clearly annoyed. "Qui-Gon, I need to talk to you!"

Obi-Wan's feet slowed, but Qui-Gon grabbed his hand and pulled him into the next corridor. Together, they ran as fast as Qui-Gon could without causing himself injury. "Are we running away from Mace Windu?" Obi-Wan asked, not even out of breath yet.

"Yes. Yes, we are," Qui-Gon replied with a wide, toothy grin. "Is that a problem?"

Obi-Wan's grip on his hand tightened. His lips twitched with sly amusement. "When he catches us, I'm blaming you."

"I would expect nothing less."

They ducked out into the nearest platform, and Qui-Gon hailed an aircar. As they settled into the seats, Mace stepped over the threshold with a thunderous expression, then started yelling. The aircar pulled into the nearest lane of traffic as Obi-Wan sank a little lower in his seat and stifled a giggle with his hands. "That was unnecessary," he chided Qui-Gon, who merely shrugged.

"From a certain point of view."

"I'm definitely blaming you. Hopefully I can avoid him until we leave for the Negotiator."

"I think I can arrange that," murmured Qui-Gon. Unexpectedly, a blush rose along the tips of Obi-Wan's ears.

Clearing his throat, Obi-Wan glanced over at him. "So where are we going?"

"You haven't figured that out yet? You've been away too long, my friend."

Obi-Wan peered down the side of the aircar momentarily, then huffed a laugh. "Really?"

"I thought a little comfort food might cheer you up."

Suddenly, the younger man's body stiffened. It was so slight as to be almost unnoticeable—but Qui-Gon was watching. "Who says I need cheering up?" he said with forced levity.

Qui-Gon reached over and brushed the back of Obi-Wan's hand with his fingertips. "I do."

Obi-Wan's hand shuddered almost imperceptibly at the contact, and it suddenly occurred to Qui-Gon Jinn that his former apprentice was utterly touch-starved. He could not believe he had not made the connection before. General Kenobi was set apart from everyone around him twice—first as the commanding officer, then again as a Jedi steeped in the mysteries of the Force. Ahsoka was a particularly ebullient girl, generous with her hugs for Qui-Gon, but he knew she spent much of her time trying to emulate Obi-Wan. She probably kept to herself, especially since they were almost always in the company of others. Withdrawing his hand, Qui-Gon shifted a little in his seat—just enough that with every turn of the aircar, his shoulder and thigh brushed against Obi-Wan's side. To his pleasure, Obi-Wan did not move away.

The midmeal crowd packed Dex's to the brim. The two Jedi were barely able to wedge themselves inside the door. Qui-Gon used his damnable height to scan across the sea of locals, but Dex spotted him first. "Fyll, get out of the karking way!" the Besalisk roared, flailing wildly at one of his patrons. "Your order'll be at the end of the counter!"

The tall Rishii clacked his beak at Dex, fluffing his bronze feathers in annoyance, but sidled away from the door. Automatically, Qui-Gon reached out and grabbed Obi-Wan's hand to keep him close; he could sense surprise in the Force, but the younger man's fingers tightened against Qui-Gon's skin. "Qui-Gon!" Dex called with a wide grin. "You haven't darkened my door in six months, so don't think for one second you're getting any free caff out of me. You've hurt my feelings."

"You can give all the free caff to him," Qui-Gon retorted, nodding at Obi-Wan as they finally reached the diner counter.

The Besalisk's grin went supernova. "Obi-Wan, my boy!" Yellow eyes flicked over the Jedi Knight, and the smile became a frown. "Is army food so bad that you've just stopped eating?" he joked.

The fingers clasped in Qui-Gon's hand tensed slightly, but Obi-Wan chuckled. "I've been waiting for a plate of your green noodles to come along. You don't deliver to the Mid-Rim."

"Ha! If only." Dex slapped the counter with two palms while wiping a third on his stained shirt. "Sit, sit. Green noodles for the Negotiator"—Obi-Wan covered his wince, but Qui-Gon squeezed Obi-Wan's hand in sympathy before letting the younger man's fingers slide away—"and a nerfsteak sandwich for the man I thought cared about my well-being," Dex said dramatically.

Qui-Gon shot him a rude hand gesture from the Outer Rim, which earned him a loud guffaw as the Besalisk disappeared into the kitchen. Next to him, Obi-Wan snorted softly. "I forget about that, sometimes."

"Forget what?"

"That you're so…you."

"Who else would I be?"

He sighed in exasperation, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling as if for answers or possibly patience. "I no longer have the daily reminder that you are nothing like ninety-nine point nine percent of the Jedi Order."

"I admit, my recent years have been less…rebellious than the majority of my life. It's hard to get into that much trouble when you're Temple-bound. I mean, I have a secretary and a schedule now."

Obi-Wan was shaking his head slightly. "No, that's not what I meant."

"You know," Qui-Gon said with a little smile, "you could just say what you mean."

He meant it to be encouraging, a light-hearted but truthful tease, but Obi-Wan's eyebrows furrowed together the way they did when he was considering something seriously. His fingers trailed over the countertop to play with the salt shaker. Finally, he took a deep, steadying breath, but Qui-Gon could hear the thread of instability in his voice. "You didn't prepare me for being a Jedi," he blurted out.

Qui-Gon's first impulse was to argue, to demand why the younger man felt that way, but he bit his tongue. Hanging onto life by his fingernails in Theed and the subsequent recovery had taught him about patience in ways his life as a Jedi never had.

Obi-Wan seemed surprised at his silence, and rushed to fill the void. "They all expect me to be separate from them. To be cold. Calculating. Seeing the big picture of every skirmish, every drill, every movement. There are days when it seems they're expecting me to comfort them with mysterious Jedi platitudes. The new recruits seem shocked that I remember their names—hells, I think they're surprised that I ask them what their names are. It…it hurts, Qui. Every time I have to act the way they expect, and not the way you would expect—it hurts." The hand not fiddling with the salt absently came up to rub against his heart, as if his chest were truly aching. "Any time I'm on a mission with another Jedi, I feel like an imposter. Like if I say the wrong thing, they'll know that I just want to wrap up every orphan I find in my cloak and bring them to a nice quiet planet, or that every time we're back at the Temple I sneak a crate of sweets for the men and leave it for them to find, or that every time Ahsoka lights her 'saber in battle my heart stops. Jedi aren't supposed to feel that way."

"I feel that way," admitted Qui-Gon softly.

"Exactly!" Obi-Wan slammed the salt shaker on the counter, drawing irritated looks from the customers around them. He pushed the salt away and fidgeted with the hem of his cloak instead. "You care, Qui-Gon. Deeply, and on occasion wrongly, but you care in ways that other Jedi don't. _There is no emotion, there is peace_ —I thought I knew what that meant until I met you, and then I thought I knew what it meant until you Knighted me."

Whatever ridiculous thing Qui-Gon was going to say—and of course it would be ridiculous, what else would it be after a confession like that?—was interrupted by Dex reappearing with two plates piled high with hot, greasy food. The Besalisk slid the dark green noodles under Obi-Wan's nose and glared sharply at Qui-Gon, questioning the younger man's pained expression. Qui-Gon shook his head minutely and plucked the plate from Dex's enormous hand. "Did you make these yourself?" he asked, forcing a bit of levity. "Should I be checking to see if you spat in my sandwich?"

"Ask one of your informants," retorted Dex, deadpan. "I made yours extra spicy, Obi, just the way you like it."

Obi-Wan was already wielding a pair of grub sticks. He clacked the tips together in anticipation. "Oh, Dex, I've been looking forward to searing my tongue."

"If you don't cry, I'll consider it a personal failure."

With unbridled enthusiasm, Obi-Wan tucked into his noodles; utter joy crossed his features even as his eyes began to water about three bites in. "Oh, Force gods, Dex, this is the greatest thing I've eaten in my entire life."

"You said that once about an apple when we were on Mandalore," Qui-Gon pointed out as he quickly checked under the bun of his sandwich for Besalisk secretions. Dex was his friend, but he had an passive-aggressive way of showing displeasure with his friends.

"That was the greatest apple I've ever eaten in my entire life," retorted Obi-Wan before pinching another mouthful of noodles. "This is the best foodstuff ever. Period."

Called away by the demands of his midmeal rush, Dex left the Jedi to eat their meals in silence. Obi-Wan mowed through half his plate before he finally slowed enough to savour the green noodles. Qui-Gon ate half his sandwich and a few fried tubers before his stomach protested, unused to the grease. He watched Obi-Wan out of the corner of his eye. The tension in the lines of his body were still there—lessened, perhaps, by the food and the confession, but the Knight was still deeply troubled. When the noodles were gone, Obi-Wan looked surprised; Qui-Gon pushed his uneaten portion towards his former apprentice. With a fried tuber half-way to his mouth, Obi-Wan suddenly stopped and glanced at Qui-Gon guiltily. "Thanks."

"For my fries?"

"For this," he said with an awkward half-shrug. "It's like you knew exactly what I needed."

Qui-Gon's hand inched across the counter until it covered Obi-Wan's. The Knight's eyes fluttered closed at the contact. "I'm getting there," he murmured, a little too longingly.

Cocking his head with curiosity, Obi-Wan frowned at him. "What?"

"It's okay to care," Qui-Gon said, swallowing against his sudden dry mouth and mentally kicking himself for jumping out of the proverbial frying pan and into the fire. "I suppose for all that I taught you, all that I showed you, I never explicitly told you that it's okay for a Jedi to care. Caring means you're paying attention to what's going on around you. Caring means you're listening to what the Force is telling you."

"So how do you care without losing your peace, Qui-Gon?" Obi-Wan's blue eyes were bright and sharp, demanding an answer.

Qui-Gon rubbed a circle over the back of Obi-Wan's hand and smiled. "By breaking the rules when you need to and suffering the consequences gladly."

Poor Obi-Wan looked as though he had been kicked in the head with this revelation. Quickly and with a minimum of protest on both sides, Qui-Gon and Dexter negotiated payment—Qui-Gon paid for his sandwich, while Obi-Wan's meal was on the house—while Obi-Wan sat, slightly dazed and contemplative. Finally, Qui-Gon rested his hand on the Knight's shoulder to catch his attention. Beneath his palm, he could feel a tremor even through the layers of raw silk and wool. "Ready for our next stop?"

A bewildered smile tugged at Obi-Wan's lips. "Surely you have work you should be doing?"

The only work I want to be doing is you, was what Qui-Gon's brain helpfully supplied, and he had to clack his teeth together to avoid blurting out the suggestive comment. A blush heated his cheeks unbidden. Obi-Wan clearly noticed; his eyebrow quirked up before he could smooth it back down into a placid, waiting expression. "I, ah, I'm letting my secretary handle things today. I'm not expecting anything serious to crop up."

"The serious is always unexpected."

"I know exactly how today is going to end," Qui-Gon replied, keeping his tone light. "Let's not waste our afternoon, hmm?"

 

They ended up strolling through the Coruscant Botanical Gardens, much to Obi-Wan's bemusement. "The Room of a Thousand Fountains has far more unique species," he noted as they wove through a knot of Ithorians bent over a riotous flowerbed, "and fewer occupants."

"Perhaps," mused Qui-Gon, "but there is one hundred percent less Mace Windu looking for me here." Obi-Wan snorted a laugh, giving Qui-Gon the courage to reach out and take his hand. If this went badly, if he had misjudged, well, there were only a few more hours before the day reset. "And no other Jedi to frown at me," he added softly.

Obi-Wan's gaze dropped to their joined hands, but he did not pull away. "Qui-Gon—"

"Yes, Obi-Wan?"

Slowly, Obi-Wan threaded his fingers through Qui-Gon's and squeezed their palms together. Without looking at the taller Jedi, he pointed with his free hand. "Have you seen the hedge maze?"

Precisely trimmed and exquisitely elaborate, the maze held a cool, green silence that settled over them as Obi-Wan led Qui-Gon into the maze. From a distance, the leaves seemed orderly, clipped into submission with vicious efficiency. Upon closer inspection, the curling, wild mass of leaves grew unchecked as if lying in wait. Beneath their boots was fine green grass, thicker and softer than a plush carpet. Branches soared overhead, knitting together until only mottled sunlight reached them. The Force sang with a wonderful, mysterious note. Qui-Gon grinned.

Obi-Wan let his free hand skim along the hedge. "I may not be steeped in the Living Force, but this place…" he trailed off to breathe deeply.

"Yes."

Together they wandered further into the maze. In the dim light, Qui-Gon could finally see tension leaving Obi-Wan's lean frame. Pleased and feeling a little drunk on the Living Force and the feeling of Obi-Wan's hand in his, he let himself be tugged along, not caring which turns they took. The dappled light became weaker and weaker, until Qui-Gon bumped into Obi-Wan. "Did it get dark, or am I having a stroke?" he whispered. It seemed inappropriate to speak any louder, as if the vegetation was listening.

Obi-Wan chuckled. "No one's cut back the branches here."

"Did we reach the centre?"

Obi-Wan shifted, his shoulder brushing against Qui-Gon's chest. "I'm not sure. Were you keeping track of the turns?"

"No! I was letting you decide."

"I see." That tone was familiar, one that Qui-Gon had used often as a teacher—the calm, collected tone used in situations where he had no idea what was going on, or what to do next. He had learned it from Dooku, but Obi-Wan had apparently mastered it in his time apprenticing Ahsoka.

"We're lost in a hedge maze, aren't we." It was not really a question.

"There are always lightsabers," replied Obi-Wan lightly. Qui-Gon could not stop the laughter bubbling inside of him.

"I left mine at home," he said through his giggles. "You'll have to rescue me."

Obi-Wan shook with silent laughter, dropping his forehead against Qui-Gon's chest to keep from laughing himself silly. The vibration caught Qui-Gon's breath in his throat. His free hand brushed up along the rough wool of Obi-Wan's sleeve until his fingertips met the warm skin of Obi-Wan's neck. Qui-Gon slid his fingers into copper hair and grazed Obi-Wan's cheek with the pad of his thumb.

"Qui-Gon," the Knight whispered, his voice cracking.

"Yes, Obi-Wan?"

"If you don't kiss me right now, I'm going to leave you here in the dark."

Slowly, with his heart in his throat, Qui-Gon leaned down. He brushed his crooked nose against Obi-Wan's forehead, savouring the hitched breath against his neck, then nuzzled his way down the bridge of Obi-Wan's nose, across his cheeks.

A chaste press of lips against lips should not have been so thrilling. His fingertips tingled. His heart hammered against his ribs, surely loud enough for Obi-Wan to hear. Frozen in surprise at the electric contact, Qui-Gon did not move until Obi-Wan's hand wound its way around Qui-Gon's hip. The brush of fingers over the folds of his tunic spurred him to tilt his head and finally move his mouth. He trailed his fingernails gently against the back of Obi-Wan's neck, earning him a delightful sigh that he would remember for the rest of his days.

The shrill, insistent call of a comm call shattered the moment. Obi-Wan stumbled back so suddenly that Qui-Gon swayed on his feet, startled and unbalanced. Bereft of the warmth Obi-Wan radiated, Qui-Gon shivered. A violent torrent of profanity hissed in three different languages filled the cool air. "Kenobi."

"General," replied a crisp voice.

"What is it, Admiral?"

"Just a final confirmation that your transport back aboard will leave Temple platform jenth-eight at 2210, as we discussed this morning."

"Nothing has changed, Admiral," replied Obi-Wan with no little annoyance. "Commander Ahsoka and I will be there."

"Er, very well, General. Block out."

Obi-Wan muttered something vicious in Huttese that would be physically impossible for humanoids. "I-I'm sorry, Qui. I have to get back."

"You have to be ready for the _Negotiator_ ," Qui-Gon said, letting the regret seep into his words.

Obi-Wan groped in the dark to regain Qui-Gon's hand. "You really did know exactly what I needed," he sighed.

Letting himself be led back out of the dark maze, Qui-Gon murmured, "I'm getting there."

He allowed Obi-Wan to depart without fuss or last-minute entreaties to stay. The genuine smile that the Knight gave him, the longing in his eyes, stole his voice anyway.

With the faint burn of spicy noodles on his lips and the memory of Obi-Wan's nimble fingers tracing whorls along his hip, Qui-Gon Jinn sat on his couch and drained his teacup and upended it onto the saucer.

The same blobs of wet leaves stuck to the sides of the china.

Death. Disaster. Heartbreak and missed opportunities. Romance. Joining. Courtship.

All dependant on his point of view.

As he leaned forward to place his cup back on the saucer, a single collection of leaves that he had not seen before caught his eye.

_Change_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Sanerontheinside for roving a few eyeballs over this chapter for me! Any errors are mine.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where we earn our explicit rating, folks, fyi.

His eyes flew open as his body teetered on the edge of his mattress. Too late; he crumpled into a heap on the floor. For a moment, he lay there, one hip throbbing and the other on fire with the memory of Obi-Wan's hand. "This is new," he announced with a frown.

He had kissed Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan had asked him for a kiss.

He had woken _before_ he hit the floor.

Was this a clue? An indication that something new was happening?

Was the time loop collapsing, or had it ended completely? Was he running out of loops before a final, permanent disaster? Was he going to wake up tomorrow for the first time, grieving?

He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and groaned deeply. _Karking temporal anomalies._

If this was the last one he was going to get, he was going to make it count. He showered and trimmed his beard and braided his hair. Instead of his brown and cream Jedi robes, Qui-Gon pulled out his one set of civilian clothes that did not have badly repaired blaster holes. He pulled on the thigh-length, forest green silk tunic and slim fitting black leggings, then fished around the dark corners of his tiny closet until he found his black leather knee-high boots. He left the boots on the floor by the bed and picked up his comm.

Obi-Wan's voice came at its normal volume. "You missed the war council, Qui-Gon," he said, worry mixed with a touch of disapproval.

"I know," replied Qui-Gon. "I had other pressing matters this morning."

"I won't keep you, then, if you're busy."

"I commed _you ,_ Obi-Wan," replied Qui-Gon. "Can you meet me at my quarters?"

Obi-Wan hesitated. "I have a lot of work to do before we head out tonight—"

"Your reports are finished, Obi-Wan, and Ahsoka is taking a well-deserved day of leisure," Qui-Gon cajoled. "Just come meet me."

"Well—"

"Please?"

"Oh, alright. I'll be there shortly. Kenobi out." Qui-Gon grinned at the fond exasperation in the Knight's voice and dashed into the kitchen in bare feet to fix a tea tray.

The door chime rang out just as Qui-Gon settled the teapot between two cups. The strong, earthy smell of sapir filled his nose. "Come in," he called, bearing the tray out to the low table in front of the couch.

Obi-Wan stepped inside, eyes widening at the sight of Qui-Gon in something other than Jedi robes. "Are you ill?" he asked suspiciously.

Smoothly, Qui-Gon sidled up to Obi-Wan and brushed his fingers over the Knight's shoulders. "Let me take your cloak," he offered, grasping the fabric as Obi-Wan shrugged out of the garment with narrowed eyes. "I'm not ill, Obi-Wan, I promise."

"Then what are you doing?" he replied, a bit confused.

"I'm taking a day off," said Qui-Gon lightly as he hung the cloak on a peg by the door. Looping his arm around Obi-Wan's shoulders, he leaned his head against Obi-Wan's temple and whispered the words he knew would work. "Wanna play hooky with me, Obi-Wan?"

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and exhaled noisily. Beneath Qui-Gon's arm, he shivered. "Just until 2200," murmured Obi-Wan.

"Wonderful." Qui-Gon squeezed Obi-Wan's shoulder and guided him to sit on the couch. "Have a cup of tea with me."

As he eased down onto the furniture, Obi-Wan rubbed his hand over the upholstery. A bemused look flitted across his fair features. "Is this the couch from our quarters?"

"I bribed the quartermaster to move it."

"It's exactly as I remember it," he said with delight, wriggling deeper into the cushion. "I think it missed me."

"Probably; no one sleeps on it anymore." Qui-Gon clenched his teeth at the fresh wave of deja vu that broke over him and tried to ignore the feeling.

"I wonder what I'd have to barter to get one aboard ship," mused Obi-Wan. With a satisfied hum, Obi-Wan reached to pour the tea. Qui-Gon stopped him with the gentle brush of his fingers on Obi-Wan's knuckles.

"I never get to pour for you," Qui-Gon told him with a smile. "Let me."

The dark liquid brought a contented smile to Obi-Wan's face as he plucked the cup from Qui-Gon's hand and inhaled the steam. "Oh, I've missed a good sapir. I ran out about three months ago, and I've been stuck drinking the caff Ahsoka brews. The GAR does not understand tea, and apparently neither does my Padawan."

"You mentioned that in your last letter. Can she at least brew a decent caff?" asked Qui-Gon, offering Obi-Wan a plate of ginger biscuits. The Knight plucked one from the plate with a tiny moue of disappointment; Qui-Gon remembered suddenly that these were Ahsoka's favourites, while Obi-Wan was particularly fond of a crumbly shortbread from a bakery around the corner from the Temple. The biscuit vanished in two bites, however, and the Knight plucked a new one from the plate without hesitation.

"It's the consistency of engine oil," he said ruefully, "and the men have acquired a taste for it, so I'm the odd man out. I have to either dilute it with hot water or choke it down with as much good grace and as many sugar cubes as I can muster."

Qui-Gon snorted. "I'm amazed you never went through a caff phase during your wilderness years. My first few years as a new Knight would have been a complete disaster without it. Going back to tea was as much my reward for success as getting my first week of vacation time."

"Every time I was in-Temple for more than an hour, a container of tea mysteriously appeared in my quarters," Obi-Wan said with a sly smile.

"Really? Hmm." Qui-Gon sipped his tea to hide his feigned innocence, and Obi-Wan chuckled into his cup. "What would you do with a vacation?"

Setting down his cup, Obi-Wan groaned and slumped back against the couch cushion. The dark bruises beneath his eyes were still there, still announcing his exhaustion. "Sleep. I could sleep for a week. Would make for a cheap getaway, anyhow."

"After the sleeping, then." At Obi-Wan's grumpy sigh, Qui-Gon bumped his knee against the Knight's. "Humour me, Obi-Wan."

"I don't know. What does anyone do on vacation? Find a beach somewhere and read a cheap novel and get a sunburn?" He shrugged. "Honestly, I don't know what I would do with myself. I think I've become a terrible homebody."

Qui-Gon placed his teacup on its saucer a little too firmly, making the china clatter. "Then let's go out," he announced, eyeing Obi-Wan's robes. "But you'll have to change into civvies."

Suspiciously, Obi-Wan stared back at him. "Why? Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise." A grin spread over Qui-Gon's face. "Will you meet me at platform aurek-four in twenty minutes, or do I have to follow you to make sure you don't get waylaid?"

Quirking his lips on one side, Obi-Wan nodded. "I'll meet you."

Together they slid into the back seat of the aircar, and this time, Qui-Gon set his covered basket on the seat next to him as an excuse to sit too close to Obi-Wan. The redhead rested his hands on his knees, tapping his fingers against the dark grey fabric of his civilian trousers. "So where are we going?"

Qui-Gon smiled and nodded to one side. "You haven't been away that long, surely."

A surprised huff of laughter escaped Obi-Wan's lips. "Really?"

"I thought a little comfort food might be in order."

"Who says I need comfort food?" retorted Obi-Wan, a little more defensively than Qui-Gon had expected, but then again, Obi-Wan did not remember.

Gently, Qui-Gon settled his hand atop Obi-Wan's and leaned in to whisper in his ear. "I do."

Obi-Wan swallowed hard, trembling beneath Qui-Gon's touch, and this time, Qui-Gon kept his hand where it was. The aircar pulled up next to Dex's Diner. "Wait here a moment," Qui-Gon told the driver.

"We're not going in?" asked Obi-Wan with a tiny frown.

"Not this time," replied Qui-Gon as he clambered over Obi-Wan and out the door. "I'll be right back. Don't look in the basket."

The diner was as crowded as it usually was for the lunchtime rush. Qui-Gon swivelled and nudged and apologized his way through the throng until he reached the counter. Before he could reach out and tap Dex on the shoulder, the Besalisk whirled. "How long has it been since you walked in here?" demanded Dex with narrowed yellow eyes.

"Too long," replied Qui-Gon apologetically, "but I need two orders to go, Dex, with one as spicy as you can make it."

"Spicy for me, or spicy for a human?" retorted Dex.

Qui-Gon allowed himself a secretive smile. "Spicy for Obi-Wan."

Dex lifted his massive bulk onto his toes in order to scan the crowd. "He's here? I'd like to see him!"

"We're going to eat somewhere a little more private," admitted Qui-Gon, clearing his throat against the unexpected blush heating his cheeks.

Dex stilled, then leaned in with an encouraging leer and whispered, "Took you long enough." Without another word, the Besalisk disappeared into the kitchen, leaving a wake of protests from waiting customers.

 

The Coruscant Botanical Gardens were once again a surprise for Obi-Wan. "The Room of a Thousand Fountains has far more unique species," he noted as they wove through the same knot of Ithorians, still bending over the same riotous flowerbed, "and fewer occupants."

"But fewer disapproving eyes," replied Qui-Gon softly. He reached out and slipped his hand into Obi-Wan's.

Obi-Wan's gaze dropped to their joined hands, but he did not pull away. "Qui-Gon—"

"Yes, Obi-Wan?" His voice sounded huskier to his ears than it had the last time.

Slowly, Obi-Wan threaded his fingers through Qui-Gon's and squeezed their palms together. Without looking at the taller Jedi, he pointed with his free hand. "Have you seen the hedge maze?"

"That's why I brought you here. Let's get lost for a while, shall we?"

This time, Qui-Gon led Obi-Wan by the hand into the soothing darkness of the maze. Taking every second right turn, the two Jedi wandered in silence. Their footsteps on the thick grass made no sound. Once the sunlight disappeared, Qui-Gon was struck with the reminder of Obi-Wan's lips on his; his companion simply followed his lead, glancing interestedly at the perfectly groomed hedge surrounding them, unable to remember their shared moment. The Jedi Master was not aiming for a recreation, however, and tugged Obi-Wan's hand gently. "Almost there."

"How can you tell? It's awfully dark in here."

"Can you not hear the grass whispering to us, Obi-Wan?" teased Qui-Gon, hefting the basket tucked in his elbow. "Look."

With a final turn, they came to the centre of the maze. Perfectly round and bathed in sunshine, the green space was ringed with riotous, overgrown rose bushes at odds with the sharp delineation of the hedge. The fine grass continued here, plush and inviting. Qui-Gon dropped Obi-Wan's hand and placed the basket in the middle of the green circle. "Come sit down," he suggested, retrieving the quilt that normally lived on his couch and flicking it open with dramatic flair. The worn, patched fabric settled on the grass, and Qui-Gon knelt. "Obi-Wan?"

The Knight stood, mouth slightly agape, ears red. "You brought a picnic," he said, his voice a mixture of disbelief and wonder.

Eyes sparkling with mischief, Qui-Gon held up the take out container marked with a skull and crossbones in Dex's own hand. "I brought spicy noodles."

Instantly, Obi-Wan was crosslegged on the quilt and plucking his meal and a pair of grub sticks from Qui-Gon's hand. "I feel like I'm being buttered up," he joked.

"I knew you wouldn't be able to resist Dex's spicy noodles," Qui-Gon chuckled. "It's all a ruse so you'll spend the afternoon with me instead of insisting we go back to work."

Obi-Wan paused, the first noodle halfway to his mouth, and looked directly at Qui-Gon. "I don't need a ruse to spend time with you," he said in a low voice, "but I do appreciate the effort."

Holding his gaze, Qui-Gon replied, "You're worth the effort."

Another blush spread over the Knight's face, and he hid it by stuffing his mouth full of green noodles. He closed his eyes in bliss. "It's burning my face," he choked out after swallowing.

Poking his own grub sticks in Obi-Wan's direction, Qui-Gon just shook his head. "As long as you're happy. I like to actually taste my food."

"It's perfect."

Once again, Obi-Wan inhaled his meal, and once again, Qui-Gon passed him the remains of his own. Obi-Wan smiled with gratitude. "I suppose I was hungry."

The possible replies—that Obi-Wan had not been eating and Ahsoka had noticed—curled on Qui-Gon's tongue. Maybe this time he could just let it go. Maybe not. "It's difficult to find enough time to sit down for a decent meal on campaign," said Qui-Gon. "I've done the same."

Obi-Wan stilled, guilt telegraphed by the droop of his shoulders. "There's never enough time," he whispered.

"There's enough time today," replied Qui-Gon softly, reaching out to squeeze Obi-Wan's knee in reassurance. The Knight nodded and fell upon the last of the noodles with gusto.

Qui-Gon tidied the containers into the basket, then lazily stretched himself out on one half of the quilt. Tucking one bent arm under his head, he sighed contentedly. "Come look at this," he beckoned.

"What?" Peering up at the sky, Obi-Wan squinted.

Patting the space on the quilt next to him, Qui-Gon cajoled, "Come look at this."

"Oh, alright." Obi-Wan settled down beside the taller man, mirroring his stance. "What am I looking at?"

"That cloud looks like a rabbit."

"It does not."

"It has long ears and a tail."

With a scoff, Obi-Wan lifted his hand to point at a fluffy mass scudding across the blue sky. "A jawa, maybe."

"Not that one," retorted Qui-Gon, taking hold of Obi-Wan's wrist and adjusting the angle of his arm. "That one."

"Oh. Well, I suppose." Obi-Wan lowered his arm, and they lay side by side in the sunshine, fingers entwined on the quilt beneath them. After a long, stretching moment, Obi-Wan turned his head toward the older Jedi. "Qui-Gon?"

Grey eyes met bright blue. Qui-Gon bent his head, slowly enough to allow Obi-Wan to turn away, and Obi-Wan tipped his chin up to meet him before an enormous yawn broke the hum of tension. Face contorted as the yawn took over, Obi-Wan growled wordlessly. "I'm sorry," he murmured.

"Don't be," replied Qui-Gon gently. "Close your eyes, Obi-Wan. I'll be right here."

The fingers laced with his had already loosened; Obi-Wan's eyes, dark bruises of exhaustion beneath, fluttered closed. Qui-Gon shifted to press a gentle kiss against Obi-Wan's forehead.

 

The sharp squawk of a comm roused Qui-Gon from his contented doze. He cracked one eye open. Long shadows shrouded them like a blanket; the sky above was on fire with orange and pink streaks. Obi-Wan did not move, chest still stirring with shallow, even breaths. The insistent call of the comm—not his, he realized—was too loud for his ears, but the sound seemed to be swallowed by the vegetation surrounding them. He reached over and carefully picked Obi-Wan's belt pouch, fishing out the offending technology. "Yes?" he muttered grumpily without checking the ident code.

"General Kenobi?" The voice on the other end seemed hesitant upon hearing an unfamiliar voice.

"He's indisposed," retorted Qui-Gon.

"No, 'm not," mumbled Obi-Wan sleepily, groping for the source of the sound without even opening his eyes.

"Oh, General," repeated the voice with relief. Obi-Wan's fingers found Qui-Gon's hand and pulled on his wrist.

"What is it, Admiral Block?" Eyes still closed, Obi-Wan managed to sound as if he had been awake all along.

"Just a final confirmation that your transport back aboard will leave Temple platform jenth-eight at 2210, as we discussed this morning."

"Nothing has changed, Admiral," replied Obi-Wan with no little annoyance. "Commander Tano and I will be there."

"Er, very well, General. Block out."

The comm cut off the call, and Obi-Wan muttered something in Huttese that made Qui-Gon chuckle. "I don't know if that's physically possible."

"I'll make it possible if that man calls me one more time today," groused Obi-Wan, finally blinking slowly. "I have to get back to the Temple."

The Knight was on his feet, brushing off bits of grass, before Qui-Gon could say anything to convince him to stay. Together they folded the quilt in silence—Qui-Gon dreading the impending end of day and Obi-Wan clearly reluctant to return to his duties. Leaving the maze, Obi-Wan took the basket and hooked both arms through the handle. Qui-Gon's hands were cold all the way back to the Temple.

Night had fallen completely by the time the pair stepped inside Qui-Gon's door. "I don't suppose you have time for another cup of tea?"

Obi-Wan shook his head ruefully and set the basket on the floor. "I have to change and make certain my shipping container is where it's supposed to be."

"Right, of course." Qui-Gon took a step into Obi-Wan's personal space and bent his head slightly. "I enjoyed playing hooky with you, Obi-Wan."

Tilting his head up to look at him, Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes. "We're not done yet, Qui-Gon."

With a teasing smirk, Qui-Gon shifted a little closer. "Really?"

"You haven't kissed me yet."

This time, Qui-Gon was ready. He cupped Obi-Wan's face with both hands and lowered his lips without hesitation. His fingertips played against the nape of Obi-Wan's neck, teasing and dancing along flushed skin. One of Obi-Wan's hands had seized his silvering braid, while the other snaked around Qui-Gon's hip and tugged him closer. Qui-Gon suckled at Obi-Wan's bottom lip, earning him an encouraging groan. The tip of Obi-Wan's tongue swiped tentatively along Qui-Gon's upper lip, and suddenly Qui-Gon found himself pressing Obi-Wan against the wall, tasting his mouth and running a hand down the redhead's back to slip under his shirt hem. His fingers found a broad swath of warm skin while Obi-Wan tugged a little harder on Qui-Gon's braid. The Knight shifted slightly until Qui-Gon's thigh rested between Obi-Wan's legs; at the sudden press of hardness against him, Qui-Gon gasped into Obi-Wan's mouth. "Obi-Wan—"

The Knight smiled regretfully against Qui-Gon's lips. "I have to go," he whispered.

"Please don't," Qui-Gon begged. "Please stay, Obi-Wan."

"I have to be General Kenobi now," Obi-Wan murmured into Qui-Gon's neck. The feeling of Obi-Wan's breath against his thudding pulse sent a jolt of electricity through his body. "Thank you for today."

"Stay with me, Obi-Wan. Just stay here and maybe we can wake up together," Qui-Gon said, unable to think clearly with Obi-Wan pressing kisses to his jugular.

"I'd really like that," he said, voice heavy with regret. With a final brush of his lips against Qui-Gon's, Obi-Wan pulled away and stood at the door. His grey eyes spoke of hope and regret. "Ask me again next time."

Then he was gone, and Qui-Gon sat on his couch in the dark, paralyzed by overstimulated nerves and the heavy oncoming dread of the late hour.

*

For the second morning in a row, Qui-Gon was jarred awake a split second earlier than the hundreds of mornings before. The extra time was still not enough to prevent his fall. He lay tangled in his sheets, arm strewn across his face, and noticed something else that was new—a raging erection.

"That's it! I am kriffing done with this karking loop!" he screamed into his forearm, flailing against the binding sheets until he heard a few stitches pop. His arm flopped to his side, and he lay on his bedroom floor, breathing noisily. "Get a grip on yourself, Jinn. You're a Jedi Master, for Sith's sake."

Groaning, he wandered into his kitchen and made himself the strongest cup of tea he could bear to drink. Wiggling his bare toes against the cold tile, he wrapped his hands around the cup. He had to stop and think clearly for once; he glared down at his bobbing cock. "You don't need all the blood right now," he snapped. As if in reply, his brain helpfully supplied the vivid memory of Obi-Wan Kenobi's skillful tongue in his mouth.

With a growl of frustration, he splayed out on his couch with his teacup. Think.

Telling anyone about the time loop would get him stuck in the Halls of Healing for the entire day.

Delaying the shuttle was an inevitable failure, no matter how he tried.

Admiral Block always changed the timing, and he always called to check up on Obi-Wan. Therefore kill Admiral Block?

 _NO_ , Force damn it.

Obi-Wan would not be convinced to stay. General Kenobi always did his duty.

So take General Kenobi off duty.

Qui-Gon settled the lip of his cup against his mouth and sipped his tea. Maybe his chafing role in this war as the Order spymaster would finally pay off.

The meeting was over, as usual, as Qui-Gon strode in wearing his Jedi uniform and his reading glasses. He had noticed a few months ago that the Council seemed to take him a bit more seriously if he reported to them wearing the glasses, as if needing corrective lenses had somehow smoothed his maverick reputation into that of a bookish, wise man. Obi-Wan was slowly gathering his meeting materials, but his exhausted face lit up at the sight of the tall Master. "Good morning, Qui-Gon," he said, his pleased tone at odds with the dark smudges beneath his eyes.

"Nice of you to join us," interrupted Mace, annoyed.

"I had a matter of utmost importance cross my desk this morning, Master Windu," replied Qui-Gon seriously. "It concerns the _Negotiator._ "

Obi-Wan started, swivelling sharply in his seat to look up at Qui-Gon. "What is it?" he demanded.

"There's been a threat of sabotage," said Qui-Gon quietly, glancing around as the remaining Jedi filed out of the conference room.

"How trustworthy is the information?" asked Mace, drawing his brows together in concern.

"Just trustworthy enough that we should not dismiss it." Passing Mace the datapad, he glanced at Obi-Wan. "I don't have a second source to substantiate the threat, but I wouldn't recommend ignoring it altogether."

The Knight's lips were pressed together in a thin line. "We have a mission scheduled to leave tonight. We're investigating a possible CIS listening post in supposedly neutral space."

"You won't investigate anything if the hyperdrive explodes," replied Qui-Gon wryly.

Mace sighed as he thumbed through the datapad. "Qui-Gon, there isn't much here."

"I've given you less," retorted Qui-Gon. _Besides, I made it up_. "In my professional opinion, we need to take this seriously. Any loss in hours now is far preferable to the potential complete loss of a Venator-class ship and its personnel."

"I'd rather not explode in deep space," Obi-Wan told Mace dryly. "If it's all the same to you, Master Windu."

The Korun rubbed his temple as if soothing a headache. Passing the datapad back to Qui-Gon, he said, "Very well. The _Negotiator_ is to stay in orbit until the ship's hardware and software is subjected to a complete search. Master Kenobi, you're up."

 _What?_ Qui-Gon frowned. "Surely there are enough personnel aboard ship to undergo a search," he protested.

"No, it's my ship," Obi-Wan argued, hiding the weariness in his voice by clearing his throat. "My responsibility." He pulled out his comm. "Ahsoka?"

The girl's tinny voice seemed wary. "Yes, Master?"

"I'm afraid we're off a bit early. There's a situation aboard ship that we need to handle."

For all she was a Commander in this ridiculous war, Ahsoka was still a newish apprentice and a young girl. "But Master—" she tried to argue, but Obi-Wan cut her off.

"I know you were supposed to get the day, but duty calls, Padawan," he told her, not unkindly. "I'll meet you at platform jenth-eight in twenty minutes."

The poor girl tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice. "Yes, Master. Ahsoka out."

Obi-Wan pushed out of his seat with his datapads under his arm. "Any idea where I should be looking, Qui-Gon?"

"I'm afraid not," he replied faintly. He could not add to the charade; his fabricated report already said nothing to the placement of any sabotage. Uncaring of Mace's watchful eyes, he reached out and brushed Obi-Wan's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Obi-Wan."

The younger man's eyes widened slightly, surprised at the deep regret in Qui-Gon's expression, then nodded. "It's not your fault. If you happen to get any new intel, do send it along? Otherwise, I'll see you the next time we're in-Temple."

Unable to wiggle out of this ridiculous situation, Qui-Gon had no choice but to offer a small smile and say, "May the Force be with you, Obi-Wan."

2210 could not come fast enough.

*

The tickle under his nose jerked him awake so forcefully that he teetered precariously on the edge of the bed and hit the floor in a tangle of sheets. Groaning, he winced at the bright light streaming in from the window. He spat out the mouthful of hair that had woken him in disgust.

His eyes flew open as his heart slammed against his ribs. That extra microsecond that had somehow appeared—

If he did not know better, he would say the universe had revoked it.

He did not know better, if he was perfectly honest about it.

Kissing Obi-Wan had directly preceded the extra moment. Not just kissing him, though; Qui-Gon had made the effort to spoil the Knight, to give him the love and attention to counteract his own self-neglect.

The memory of Obi-Wan sitting at Dex's counter, sighing in exasperation when he really felt despair, flooded his senses. _You are nothing like ninety-nine point nine percent of the Jedi Order._

Normally, Qui-Gon would agree with that assessment and take pride in it. Deep down, however, he knew that he was just too stubborn, too heretical to stuff his emotions into his heart and bury them like his peers. He was not the only Jedi who cared, but he was one of the few who let himself care—what had Obi-Wan said? _Deeply, and sometimes wrongly_.

Unbidden, a smile crept over his features. He might be the spymaster now, but he had a lifetime of watching people for the tells that spoke of emotion. A diplomat used emotion to their advantage, and he had been one of the best diplomats in the Order. He would break the rules and suffer the consequences gladly—over and over and over, if necessary.

Qui-Gon strode into the conference room, unbothered by the surprised looks from the retreating Jedi. From the head of the table, Mace raised his eyebrow. "Nice of you to join us."

"My apologies, Master Windu," Qui-Gon said contritely. "I got tangled up."

"Good morning, Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan said as he stacked his datapads.

Qui-Gon ducked his head close to the redhead's ear. "Can you give me five minutes with Mace? I'll meet you outside."

"Of course." Obi-Wan threw him a wondering glance before herding the last stragglers out of the room, leaving the spymaster and the Head of the Order alone.

"Something wrong?" asked Mace.

"Yes, actually," replied Qui-Gon. "I'll be blunt, Mace. I'm very concerned about the state of Obi-Wan's health. He's teetering on the edge of exhaustion."

Without looking up from his datapads, Mace replied, "We're all tired, Qui-Gon. We're fighting a war."

He had to keep calm. "I'm not talking about him being tired. I'm saying that he's going to end up dead." Mace's dark eyes flew up, and Qui-Gon pressed his advantage now that he had the Korun's attention. "General Kenobi will either collapse from exhaustion and malnutrition and end up on his back in a medbay, or he's going to be too slow in the field and come home in a body bag." It tore at his heart to say this aloud, but he kept his voice low and even. Mace hated theatrics in others.

Hesitant, Mace tapped his fingers against the smooth surface of the table. "Qui-Gon, I can't just pull him out of the mission rotation. Timings are tight, and we can't afford to have one of our best Jedi out of commission for any decent stretch of time."

"Then I'll go in his place." He said it, meaning every syllable, and watched as Mace's tight lips softened very slightly.

"You can't, Qui-Gon. Even if you were medically cleared for off-world missions, which you haven't been for years—I mean, you don't hold any field qualifications anymore, and you don't have time to re-test—you have an essential task here with the intelligence cell. We can't spare you, either."

"See could easily step into my shoes," argued Qui-Gon with just a bit of heat.

Mace sighed. "I understand what you're trying to do, but Kenobi's necessary—"

"What if it was Depa?" Qui-Gon said quietly, and watched a flicker of worry cross Mace's dark features. There it was. For all they spoke of non-attachment and emotions and peace, Jedi had loved ones. "I know she's on Haruun Kal, and I know you're worried about her."

"I haven't heard from her in too long," Mace admitted softly, unable to meet Qui-Gon's eyes.

"So you know exactly how worried I am about Obi-Wan."

A long moment passed before Mace sighed, slumping his shoulders. "What do you want me to do, Qui-Gon? The _Negotiator_ has a mission scheduled, and I have no one else to send."

"Delay them by twelve hours," suggested Qui-Gon. "Long enough for all of the crew to get a decent night's sleep before they leave. Flood the neutral space with garbage transmissions if you're really keen. We've suspected the listening post's location for less than a week, and we've rerouted all sensitive comms to other transmission substations. Twelve hours won't make a difference."

Finally, Mace nodded. "Fine. Twelve hours. I'll inform Admiral Block myself."

"Tell him if he comms Obi-Wan for any reason I will dust off my lightsaber just for him and stab him with it," added Qui-Gon.

"Noted," Mace retorted drily, but his lips twitched with amusement.

"Thank you, Mace."

As Qui-Gon turned to leave, Mace called after him, "You're a manipulative son of a bitch, Qui-Gon Jinn."

"Thank you, Mace."

"You're welcome."

 

Obi-Wan was leaning against the wall, eyes closed and apparently dozing upright, as Qui-Gon swept out of the conference room. Gently, he brushed his thumb against Obi-Wan's cheek. "Thank you for waiting," he murmured. Obi-Wan leaned into the touch with a sleepy smile before he startled, fully awake.

"Oh! Sorry," Obi-Wan said with a light blush. "Apparently I don't need horizontal surfaces for sleeping anymore."

"Convenient," said Qui-Gon, chuckling. "Where's Ahsoka?"

"I told her to take the day and see her friends. She's probably with Barriss—you know, Master Unduli's Padawan."

"Let's go find her," the tall Master suggested, and Obi-Wan fell into step with him with a raised eyebrow.

"You look awfully smug."

"I'm feeling awfully smug," replied Qui-Gon.

"Are you going to tell me why, or are you just going to walk around smugly all day?" asked Obi-Wan with a sly twitch of his lips.

"I'll tell you when we see Ahsoka. She needs to know, too. And then we'll go get firstmeal. I know you skipped it."

Obi-Wan narrowed his grey eyes. "You don't know that. Maybe I availed myself of all the offerings of the commissary."

"You didn't eat because you slept for another fifteen minutes," retorted Qui-Gon.

"Shouldn't you be spying on the enemy, not your friends?" Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, and to his horror, his stomach growled loudly. With a chuckle, Qui-Gon brushed his knuckles against the back of Obi-Wan's hand. Still touch-starved, no matter how many loops had passed, Obi-Wan shivered involuntarily. "Make me some sapir and I'll consider it."

"Done."

They tracked Ahsoka to the Padawan's lounge closest to the Room of a Thousand Fountains. The Togruta was sitting cross-legged on her chair and giggling, head ducked close to the Mirialan apprentice next to her. The Mirialan spotted the adult Jedi first, straightening abruptly and adjusting her head covering. Ahsoka glanced over her shoulder and offered a nervous smile. "Hi, Masters?" she said slowly, as if their appearance was heralding doom.

"Everything's fine, Ahsoka," Qui-Gon reassured her quickly. Instantly, both girls' shoulders relaxed. "I just came to give you"—he included Obi-Wan in his glance—"some good news. Your departure has been moved back another twelve hours, so you don't have to leave tonight."

Ahsoka's bright smile was blinding. "Really? That's great!" Suddenly, her face fell. "We never arranged quarters, Master. Do you want me to go to the quartermaster?"

Cutting in easily, Qui-Gon suggested, "Perhaps you could stay with Padawan Offee? I'm sure it would be nice to spend your extra time together, if it's not inconvenient?" He pinned the yellow-skinned girl with the innocent yet insistent look that brooked no argument that all Jedi Masters learned during their apprentices' teenaged years.

"Ah, no, Master Jinn, that's fine. Master Luminara is off-world for another two days," said Barriss, and Ahsoka shot her a grin.

"Excellent. Master Kenobi can stay with me."

"I—" Obi-Wan began, eyeing his apprentice critically, but Qui-Gon cut him off with a bright smile.

"I hardly expect two upstanding young Jedi to get into much trouble. They're old enough to handle themselves without supervision," he announced, pinning a meaningful glance at his grand-Padawan, who nodded soberly.

"You won't hear a peep from me, I promise," said Ahsoka. "Go get some rest, Master." Obi-Wan opened his mouth to protest, but the Togruta managed to widen her eyes further as she looked up at him.

Unwilling or unable to resist her childish pleading, Obi-Wan sighed. "Very well. I'll see you tomorrow, Padawan."

"Bye, Master Obi-Wan. Bye, grand-Master."

The older Jedi left the girls to their giggling. Standing in the corridor, Obi-Wan glanced at Qui-Gon. "Now what?"

"Let's get you fed. Why don't you go sit on the hill in the Room, and I'll fetch us something? I'll be back in a few minutes."

Obi-Wan fixed him with an odd look, but nodded. "Alright." He disappeared around the corner toward the Room of a Thousand Fountains, and Qui-Gon ducked back into the Padawan's lounge.

Both girls had their heads together once again, Ahsoka nearly squealed at Qui-Gon's sudden reappearance. "You scared me!" she panted, rubbing her hand over her heart.

"Can the two of you do me a favour? I'll pay you in biscuits."

The girls exchanged a delighted look and nodded eagerly.

 

In the easternmost corner of the Room of a Thousand Fountains, a knoll rose in the middle of a stand of silver-leaved galek trees that had been gifted to the Order by New Mandalore over seven centuries ago. It boasted no waterfalls or pools to play in, or rocks to climb or float. The grass grew patchily, no matter how the gardeners prodded and cajoled the vegetation. It lacked the relaxing verge of the open fields and the secretive spaces of the vine-covered caves. The knoll was bland and sometimes dusty. This was Qui-Gon's favourite place in the Room, however, because no one ever seemed to come here except him.

Obi-Wan sat cross-legged on the the flat top of the knoll, eyes closed in a meditation that Qui-Gon could sense was on the verge of slipping into sleep. "Obi-Wan?" The Knight blinked slowly as he roused himself, and Qui-Gon smiled and motioned to his armful of food containers. "I should have brought my picnic basket."

"You have a picnic basket?" asked Obi-Wan, surprised, as he helped Qui-Gon arrange the boxes on the grass. "Will wonders never cease?"

Qui-Gon sighed inwardly; of course Obi-Wan did not remember. Instead, he smiled slyly and folded himself down onto the ground. "I am a man of hidden mysteries. Now eat up."

"Yes, Master Jinn," retorted Obi-Wan with a mocking salute, but within ten minutes, the younger man had wolfed down nearly everything Qui-Gon had set before him. With a piece of toasted bread half-way to his mouth, Obi-Wan stilled, embarrassed. "I'm so sorry, Qui-Gon. The field seems to have stripped me of basic things like manners and tasting my food."

"I usually eat at my desk. You do not want to know how many classified reports I've baptized with salad dressing," replied Qui-Gon with a smile.

"Hmm," answered Obi-Wan thoughtfully. With delicate precision, he laid the toast down on the lid of a food container and looked Qui-Gon straight in the eye. "Are you going to tell me what this is all about?" When Qui-Gon quirked his eyebrow questioningly, he added, "The delay. I would like to know why you're interfering with my mission."

Of all the reactions Qui-Gon had experienced in the countless loops of this day, Obi-Wan staring at him with a moue of disapproval was not one of them. He shoved an apple slice in his mouth to give him more time. "I suggested the delay to Mace, but he was the one who ordered it," replied Qui-Gon evenly.

"You didn't consult me."

"Because you would have argued with me and reassured me that you were fine, when I can clearly see that you're not. I understand if you're upset with me, but I was thinking of you, and Ahsoka, and all the people I have to trust to watch your back because I can't be there next to you. This was one of the things I could do to look out for you, Obi-Wan."

In the shifting lines of Obi-Wan's face, Qui-Gon could see he was digging his heels in for a fight; the Jedi Master suddenly wondered if he had misstepped.

Badly.

"I can't have favouritism," said Obi-Wan heatedly. "It's unfair to give me special consideration. We're all fighting this war, and we can't afford to have anyone out of rotation because they've been busy."

"It's not favouritism! I'm trying to—" _to save your life,_ was what he was going to say; Qui-Gon exhaled noisily. "Busy is not what I would call teetering on exhaustion, Obi-Wan."

"I'm fine." With his hackles up, Obi-Wan would never now admit to his weaknesses. "I need to speak to Mace."

"Obi-Wan, please don't—"

"Thank you for the meal, Qui-Gon."

Obi-Wan turned to hurry down the knoll, his lips set into a hard line. Qui-Gon used the last ammunition he had. "Ahsoka's noticed. She's worried about you, and she blames herself."

As his boot hit the bottom of the knoll, Obi-Wan hesitated, then stormed off through the thicket of galek trees. He did not look back.

Qui-Gon pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. _"Kark_."

 

With Obi-Wan stalking through the Temple to track down Mace Windu, Qui-Gon holed himself up in his quarters with the scrap of flimsi from the Archives.

_Jedi Master T—— the Force has granted him ——— relive his day countless times. Some skepticism ——— purpose, the For———— He tells of different actions all lea———— same conclusion, every reprise. Master Ta——— believed it was a gift from the F———— that he must—————in order to—————resolve._

A gift from the Force?

A curse was more like it.

He lifted the flimsi up, ready to shred it into tiny pieces, when the door chime rang out. Qui-Gon set the flimsi on his desk, stood up and unlocked the door. It swept open to reveal Obi-Wan, still looking as exhausted as ever under a thin veneer of annoyance. "Hi," he said shortly.

"Hello," replied Qui-Gon. "What brings you by?"

"Mace refused to rescind the twelve hours of stand-down." The Knight crossed his arms over his chest irritably, then uncrossed them again.

"Good." They stood face to face, not quite looking at each other. "Cup of tea?"

A flash of relief in Obi-Wan's eyes was at odds with his stony face. "Very well."

Qui-Gon stepped back to allow Obi-Wan entry. As he crossed the threshold, his eyes lit upon the couch. "That's the one from our old rooms, isn't it?"

Qui-Gon's response was automatic. "I bribed the quartermaster to move it." When the Knight did not make any move to settle down in his favourite spot, Qui-Gon said, "Why don't you see if it remembers you while I fix the tea?"

Disappearing into the kitchen before Obi-Wan could reply, Qui-Gon set to work pulling out his mismatched china and the old, chipped pottery tea pot that had steeped innumerable cups of sapir. A scallop-edged white and blue box waited on the counter, dutifully placed by his grand-Padawan for earlier plans that had been decisively ruined. He lifted the box lid and peeked inside. The shortbread biscuits, each individually decorated with chocolate drizzle and halved neka nuts, should have numbered two dozen, but the girls had cashed in their payment; six biscuits were missing. He reached into the box and snagged one as the water boiled.

From behind him, Obi-Wan's voice stilled his hand half-way to his mouth. "Who brought you fancy biscuits?"

"They're for you," admitted Qui-Gon, stretching out his hand to offer the treat to his companion.

"Who brought me fancy biscuits and left them in _your_ quarters?" Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed even as he plucked the biscuit from Qui-Gon's fingers.

"I asked Ahsoka and Barriss."

"Why?" The word came out so harshly, so strangled, that Qui-Gon closed his eyes.

"Because they're your favourites."

The shrill screech of the kettle was the only reply he got. Qui-Gon blinked and moved the kettle off the heating element. In the doorway of the kitchen, Obi-Wan stood, watching him with the most unreadable expression. As Qui-Gon set the tea to steep with practiced motions, Obi-Wan finally spoke. "I think you need to tell me what is going on."

Qui-Gon simply nodded. He settled the tea tray on the low table and sat on his familiar couch. Obi-Wan sat down next to him with his hands on his knees. "Do you trust me, Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon said softly.

Taken aback, Obi-Wan looked at him sharply. "Of course."

"Then I would ask that you believe me when I say what I'm about to tell you is true, that I'm not ill or compromised, that I'm not teasing you. I need you to promise that you'll hear me out until the end, and that you won't call for the Healers, or Temple security."

"You're starting to scare me, Qui-Gon," replied Obi-Wan with a small frown.

"I'm a bit scared myself," Qui-Gon admitted as he poured two cups of sapir and offered one to Obi-Wan. "I'm trapped in a temporal anomaly. Well, I suppose we all are, but I seem to be the only one who knows it. I've relived this same day over and over again."

Obi-Wan stared at him over the rim of his cup. After a moment, he said slowly, "Go on."

"Every morning I wake up late and I miss the war council meeting. The day varies, depending on my actions, but it ends the same way, every time. I've done everything I can think of to change the outcome, but I'm stuck." He sipped his tea. Obi-Wan's expression had turned thoughtful and concerned. "I'm not crazy."

"How does the day end?"

"Have a biscuit," suggested Qui-Gon, desperate to not have to answer out loud. He held out the plate of biscuits.

Obi-Wan rested his hand on Qui-Gon's wrist, nudging him to put the plate down. "Qui-Gon, how does the day end?"

"You die." At Obi-Wan's sharp intake of breath, Qui-Gon had to take a sip of tea to steady himself. "You and Ahsoka board the shuttle up to the _Negotiator_ and it explodes as soon as the engines spin up. I guess it takes out the Temple, too, because that's when the day resets and I wake up again. I have watched you die so many times, Obi-Wan. I have combed through the Archives looking for a solution. All I have is a flimsi missing half the already vague and unhelpful words that mentions reliving a day over and over. Every time I ask for help, I get sent to the Healers."

Tentatively, Obi-Wan reached out and rested his hand on Qui-Gon's knee. "How many times have you done this day?" he asked softly.

"Honestly, I've lost count. Hundreds of loops, probably. I think it might be worse if I knew."

For a long moment, Obi-Wan was quiet. He nibbled on the edge of a biscuit, then finally asked, "So instead of trying to escape, you decided to spend the day with me this time?"

At the note of confusion in Obi-Wan's voice, Qui-Gon turned a tremulous smile on him. "A while back someone suggested that there was no way one man could change everything, so I decided to focus on changing just one thing instead. I needed a break."

"That sounds reasonable," replied Obi-Wan. "What was it that you decided to change?"

"You."

"What?" The edge of surprised suspicion caused Qui-Gon to shake his head emphatically.

"Every morning I met you, and all I could see was your exhaustion," explained Qui-Gon hastily. "I decided that even if the day was going to reset, I could make sure that you were fed, and rested, and had a day of being just Obi-Wan instead of General Kenobi"—Obi-Wan had gone perfectly still, pinning his sharp gaze on Qui-Gon in a way that made the older Jedi talk faster to keep the Knight from walking out—"so I took you to Dex's for spicy noodles and let you nap on this couch. We visited the Coruscant Botanical Gardens and got lost in the hedge maze, then we had a picnic and slept on the grass—"

"And I don't remember any of it," said Obi-Wan tonelessly.

"I'm sorry, Obi-Wan, I just wanted you to be happy, even if it was for a few hours. There was one thing I could change, and that one thing was to show you that you're not just General Kenobi—you're still Obi-Wan, my wonderful Obi-Wan who deserves to be loved, who deserves to know he's loved—" Qui-Gon clacked his teeth together, shocked at his own admission.

Slowly, the mask of suspicion and what Qui-Gon thought was hurt evaporated. Obi-Wan blinked. "Say it again," he urged quietly.

Helpless, Qui-Gon acquiesced. "I love you."

A heartbeat of silence, then Qui-Gon found himself with a lapful of Obi-Wan Kenobi and a pair of eager lips against his. Obi-Wan pressed him into the couch, and Qui-Gon's hands seized his hips and pulled him closer. "Do you know"—Obi-Wan kissed his way across Qui-Gon's cheek and down his neck—"how long"—his hands were tangling in Qui-Gon's braid, pulling the strands free—"I've waited to hear you say that?"

"I love you, my Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon murmured into Obi-Wan's temple, earning him a breathy whine against his ear. Obi-Wan nipped at Qui-Gon's earlobe.

"Then love me, while we have the chance," whispered Obi-Wan. He shifted his knees on either side of Qui-Gon's thighs and deliberately settled more firmly in his lap. "I don't care if we wake up and I don't remember—at least you will remember all of it. You'll remember that I want this, that I want you, Qui, that I love you—every time, no matter how many times you have to tell clueless me—"

Qui-Gon stopped him with a searing kiss. Surprised at being cut off, Obi-Wan's hand tugged on Qui-Gon's hair. "Obi-Wan," growled Qui-Gon against Obi-Wan's mouth, "you're talking too much."

"Then render me speechless, will you?" retorted Obi-Wan with that impish smile of his, challenging and beckoning, and leaned back in for another kiss.

Heavy and warm, Obi-Wan sank further against Qui-Gon's lap. Qui-Gon trailed his hands along Obi-Wan's thighs, swiping his thumbs along the fabric to tease the sensitive inner flesh, and Obi-Wan sighed into his mouth. Qui-Gon slid his hands over Obi-Wan's hips and grabbed his buttocks, pulling the Knight against him; Obi-Wan wiggled in his arms, deliberately pressing his erection against Qui-Gon's with a low huff of delight. Obi-Wan's tongue darted against Qui-Gon's lips, teasing and fleeting, and Qui-Gon seized his bottom lip between his teeth and gently pulled. His hands, no longer calloused from heavy lightsaber work, shifted upwards to fumble at Obi-Wan's belt. When the clasp refused to budge, Obi-Wan chuckled and pulled back to watch as the older man struggled.

Qui-Gon narrowed his eyes at him. "A little help?"

Deliberately, Obi-Wan swivelled his head from side to side. "If you want me naked, you have to work for it."

"You don't remember all the dates we've been on," muttered Qui-Gon as he bent his head for a better look at the belt buckle.

A gentle knuckle caught him and nudged his chin up. Obi-Wan was staring at him, grey eyes dark. "You said you fed me and made me rest. That didn't sound like dating."

"I might have skipped the part where you threatened to leave me in a dark hedge maze if I didn't kiss you," replied Qui-Gon fondly. His fingers finally found purchase, and the belt slid apart in his hands. He tossed it onto the floor. Slowly, he began to unwind the Knight's sash.

"I did what?"

The sash joined the belt, and the crisp folds of Obi-Wan's tunics, now unconstrained, slumped. "In your defence," Qui-Gon replied, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against the newly-revealed clavicle in front of him, "I did this first." He ran his hand along Obi-Wan's jaw and into his copper hair, brushing at his cheek with his thumb. Obi-Wan leaned into the touch, lips apart in bliss. "I was probably being a terrible tease."

"You're still being a terrible tease," growled Obi-Wan, turning his head and seizing Qui-Gon's thumb with his teeth. Teeth pressed just shy of hurting, then gave way to the hot swirl of Obi-Wan's tongue. He sucked the pad of Qui-Gon's thumb, hard, until he let go with a soft pop. "I'm sorry I don't remember," he said softly.

"I'll take you to the hedge maze a hundred more times," replied Qui-Gon as he peeled back the layers of fabric covering Obi-Wan's torso. "I'll give you a hundred more first kisses, if it means you're happy, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan shuddered in his arms, snaking his arms around Qui-Gon and pulling him close. He buried his face against Qui-Gon's throat. "Let's make this day count. That would make me happy," he said, voice rough with emotion. "You make me happy."

Qui-Gon squeezed him tightly, then caught Obi-Wan's lips with his own. As their tongues danced, Qui-Gon pushed the tunics from Obi-Wan's shoulders; the crisp fabric fell heavily to the floor, leaving the Knight in a simple undertunic. Obi-Wan retreated from the kiss to divest himself of his shirt, revealing a muscled torso without any spare flesh. In the deepening dusk from the windows, Qui-Gon could see the outlines of his ribs and the fading yellowish tinge of what must have been a deep tissue bruise along his belly. Obi-Wan shifted under his gaze, as if ready to cover himself once more, but Qui-Gon ran his hand down the plane of Obi-Wan's back and trailed his mouth down from the spot behind Obi-Wan's ear down to a waiting nipple. He circled it with his tongue and nipped at it gently, and in response Obi-Wan bucked in his lap. "You're wearing too many clothes," Obi-Wan gasped as Qui-Gon gave the same treatment to his other bare nipple. The Knight's fingers were playing against Qui-Gon's scalp, rubbing and lightly scratching in a way that sent shivers along his spine.

"Perhaps," replied Qui-Gon with a grin. He could feel Obi-Wan's heart pounding against his lips. Grabbing Obi-Wan with both arms, he nudged the Knight to one side. "Sit over here, love."

"You're not going to manhandle me?" teased Obi-Wan even as he swung his knee over Qui-Gon's lap and snuggled in next to him. "Flip me over and do what you will?"

Qui-Gon snorted in amusement. "Not bloody likely. You're heavier than you look." A smirk crossed his features. "Unless you'd like me to use the Force?"

"Not really my thing," admitted Obi-Wan with a little shrug.

"Noted." Qui-Gon slid off the edge of the couch, settling himself on his knees before the copper-haired man and hooking his fingers into the waistband of the Knight's leggings with a moment of hesitation. When Obi-Wan nodded, he slowly peeled them off and tossed them over his shoulder with a show of dramatic flair that made Obi-Wan giggle. "Oh," he breathed. "You're so beautiful, my Obi-Wan."

Pale, perhaps paler than even long periods in space would account for, the Knight held the signs of long, weary war. Clusters of bruises marred his skin where his scrounged plates of armour did not reach. Qui-Gon reached out, stopping himself before brushing his fingers over a green and purple circle on his knee. "No one healed this?"

"They're just bruises. I'll live," replied Obi-Wan.

"Oh, Obi-Wan," sighed Qui-Gon. He dipped his head, kissing and soothing Obi-Wan's knee. As he inched his mouth up the soft skin of Obi-Wan's thigh, Obi-Wan inhaled shakily in anticipation and spread his legs wider. Qui-Gon nibbled and sucked his way up, all the while running circles with his fingers on the outsides of Obi-Wan's thighs, then skipped over Obi-Wan's twitching cock to wander his way back down his other thigh. Half-way down to the Knight's knee, Qui-Gon's tongue ran across a patch of skin that was silky and taut, with rough edges. He pulled back and ran a fingertip over the scar.

Obi-Wan ran a hand along Qui-Gon's loosened braid. "Blaster ricochet."

"You shouldn't have a scar," replied Qui-Gon sadly.

"I got to the medbay too late for bacta to heal it cleanly," admitted Obi-Wan. "I'd like to say it's a reminder to get help sooner, but that one wasn't even my fault. We were pinned down." Qui-Gon could not stop staring at the little patch of stretched, angry purple skin, and Obi-Wan leaned down to brush his lips against Qui-Gon's forehead. "Live in the moment, Qui. Please."

In response, Qui-Gon shifted a little closer to the junction of Obi-Wan's thighs and gently scratched his nails down the younger man's hips. Obi-Wan let his thighs open even wider, and Qui-Gon licked a hot stripe along his skin until his nose brushed the thicket of reddish curls. He glanced up briefly to find Obi-Wan staring at him with anticipation, pupils wide and lips parted. With a grin, Qui-Gon hitched forward and ran his tongue along the entire length of Obi-Wan's cock.

"Oh, gods," groaned Obi-Wan. Encouraged, Qui-Gon licked back down and replaced his tongue with the firm grip of his hand as he bent his head and swirled his tongue around each delicate ball. With deliberate slowness, he stroked Obi-Wan's cock while he gently teased Obi-Wan's balls with his mouth. The noises he was earning had Qui-Gon's own cock twitching, eager for more friction against the edge of the couch. Finally, he took pity on his partner; Qui-Gon moved his lips to the tip of Obi-Wan's cock and slowly sucked his way down the shaft while his hand fondled below. The feeling of Obi-Wan in his mouth, heavy and hot and full, sent a shiver of arousal through Qui-Gon’s body. Obi-Wan trembled, bucking against the eager mouth around him. Qui-Gon steadied him with a firm hand on his hip, but he knew that this touch-starved, wired Obi-Wan Kenobi was not going to last long. He bobbed his head faster, keeping the suction even and firm, swiping the wet tip of Obi-Wan's cock with his tongue. Obi-Wan telegraphed his impending orgasm beneath Qui-Gon's fingertips—his hips stuttered frantically while his balls tightened in anticipation—and Qui-Gon swallowed further down as Obi-Wan came with a hoarse cry.

Qui-Gon chuckled and carefully loosened Obi-Wan's grip from around his braid, now in complete disarray. He dropped a lingering kiss on the tip of Obi-Wan's cock, which twitched at the extra attention, then kissed his way up Obi-Wan's body. A wide smile, delighted and sleepy, was his reward. Obi-Wan tugged him close for a deep kiss. The awkward angle made Qui-Gon's muscles ache after a moment. "Come to bed, my love," he whispered against Obi-Wan's lips.

Despite his drooping eyelids, Obi-Wan nearly dragged Qui-Gon into the bedroom. "You're overdressed," he insisted, perching on the end of the bed and hauling Qui-Gon by the belt to stand between his thighs. He made quicker work of belt and sash than Qui-Gon had, but Qui-Gon stopped him from flinging his tunics off into the corner of his room.

"Get under the covers," he ordered, just gruffly enough that Obi-Wan obeyed with a grin. Qui-Gon turned to shed the rest of his clothing and place it carefully folded on his dresser. When he spun back towards Obi-Wan, his heart melted into a puddle.

Snuggled under the covers, hair mussed against the pillow, Obi-Wan Kenobi was fast asleep. With a pleased sigh, Qui-Gon turned off the bedside lamp and crawled into bed next to the Knight. He kept his distance, reaching over only to tuck a strand of hair behind Obi-Wan's ear. Qui-Gon's untended erection protested as he shifted, but he closed his eyes and ignored it.

 

He woke, feeling warmer than he ever did. The window held dim twilight, and in the faint light of Coruscant's skyline, Qui-Gon memorized the sight of Obi-Wan Kenobi sleeping in his arms. The Knight had shifted in his sleep, throwing his arm over Qui-Gon's hip and insinuating his leg between Qui-Gon's knees. Qui-Gon smiled, content that the man was finally resting, and ran his fingertips up and down Obi-Wan's bare arm. Beneath his touch, Obi-Wan shivered. "Tease," he murmured against Qui-Gon's chest. "Didn' mean t' fall asleep."

"You’re exhausted," rumbled Qui-Gon gently.

"Sleeping when I have you naked in bed would be a travesty." Obi-Wan shifted his leg up until his thigh rubbed against Qui-Gon in a most distracting way.

"Now who's the tease?"

With a low chuckle, Obi-Wan traced circles from Qui-Gon's shoulder down to his buttock, then hauled the bigger man even closer with one swift pull. The feeling of lips circling his nipples made him writhe enough that Obi-Wan paused to glance up at him. "I'm very ticklish there," Qui-Gon admitted. "Uncomfortably so."

With a grin, Obi-Wan replied, "There are plenty of other places to kiss you." He went back to work, kissing and licking his way up to Qui-Gon's mouth as his hand continued to press their bodies together, seeking friction. Qui-Gon could not think of a witty reply; he was too busy short-circuiting over the feeling of his cock sliding against Obi-Wan's. He reached down and engulfed both of them with his hand. Gasping at the contact, Obi-Wan dug his fingers into the flesh of Qui-Gon's buttock. Qui-Gon did not want slow, not with the moons rising and time marching on. He squeezed, sliding his palm and fingers over both of them, slicking his fingers with pearls of their fluid for the perfect friction. Obi-Wan hung on to him, thrusting a bit erratically and bumping the head of his cock against Qui-Gon's. Suddenly, he moved his hand to stop Qui-Gon. "Let me," he said breathlessly. "Here."

He shifted, gently moving Qui-Gon's cock until it sat snugly under Obi-Wan's balls. Eyes unblinking as he watched Qui-Gon's face, Obi-Wan started to move. The feeling of sliding against Obi-Wan, held tight between his thighs, with Obi-Wan's aroused flesh rubbing against his belly was too much, and Qui-Gon closed his eyes. "No, Qui, I'm here. Be here with me," urged Obi-Wan softly.

"Yes." Fluttering his eyes open, Qui-Gon met Obi-Wan’s searching expression. There was such love behind those grey eyes, such longing, that Qui-Gon ached to realize he should have seen it much sooner.

Obi-Wan moved against him, reminding him of to live in the moment. Once again, Qui-Gon wrapped his hand around the other man's cock. As they writhed together, meeting their bodies’ demands, Qui-Gon captured Obi-Wan's mouth in a kiss. His grip tightened as he swallowed Obi-Wan's needy moan; the younger man gasped with tension and shuddered in his release, and Qui-Gon came a moment later with a triumphant sigh.

They lay entangled, panting. Qui-Gon traced the lines of Obi-Wan's face with a fingertip. "I love you. I should have told you a long time ago."

Obi-Wan turned his head to kiss Qui-Gon's finger. "You can’t regret what you can’t change." He paused and snuggled into the space beneath Qui-Gon's chin. "No matter what happens, Qui. Know that I do love you, even if I don't remember telling you. Even if I don't remember this."

Dropping a kiss to Obi-Wan's hair, Qui-Gon replied, "I'll remember for both of us." He refused to look at the chrono. He refused. "Sleep here in my arms, my Obi-Wan. You're safe here." His eyes closed even as he spoke, and his last thought was of regret that he would have to start all over in the morning.

*

The tickle under his nose jerked him awake so forcefully that he teetered precariously on the edge of the bed and hit the floor in a tangle of sheets. Groaning, he winced at the bright light streaming in from the window. He spat out the mouthful of hair that had woken him in disgust.

A bubble of anger tinged with panic rose in him— _not again, not after—_

"Qui-Gon?" Obi-Wan's sleepy head poked out over the edge of the bed and peered down at him in concern. "Are you alright?"

"I—" A wave of disorientation washed over him as Qui-Gon tried to process a hundred different thoughts at once. He fought his way out of the sheets and knelt, resting his elbows on the bed. Leaning in desperately, he demanded, "What day is it? What time is it?"

"0900," replied Obi-Wan, squinting at the chrono. Bemused, the Knight kissed the tip of Qui-Gon's nose. "It's Primeday."

"Primeday," repeated Qui-Gon slowly, not believing his ears. A wide smile spread across his face. "It's Primeday."

With a booming laugh filled with relief and joy, Qui-Gon jumped back into the bed, seizing Obi-Wan around the waist and hugging him tightly. He peppered Obi-Wan with kisses while the Knight squirmed against him in confused delight. Obi-Wan leaned back to peer at him with concern. "Qui, what are you on about?"

"The loop is over," breathed Qui-Gon happily.

Obi-Wan frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"The temporal anomaly," replied Qui-Gon with a sudden feeling of dread filling his chest. Confusion continued to cloud Obi-Wan's expression, and a small frown slowly pulled down the corners of his mouth. "You…you don't remember yesterday."

Slightly insulted, Obi-Wan huffed. "Of course I remember yesterday," he drawled. "It's not every day that you tell me you love me."

"But you don't remember me telling you about the time loop?"

Obi-Wan shook his head slowly. "What in the Force are you talking about, Qui? Are you sure you didn't hit your head on the way down?"

"No, no, I'm fine. Never mind." Qui-Gon offered him a smile and Obi-Wan dipped his head for a long kiss. All thoughts and considerations on the implications of this revelation fled in the face of such determined lips. Qui-Gon's hands wandered down the bare planes of his lover's back, but Obi-Wan pulled away reluctantly.

"I'm terribly sorry about last night," he said softly. "I promise next time things will be a little more…prolonged."

"Don't apologize, my love," Qui-Gon reassured him. "I enjoyed myself thoroughly, and I certainly think you did, too. But I will take the promise that there will be a next time."

"There will be many more times." Obi-Wan smiled ruefully, planting a kiss to Qui-Gon's sternum. "Unfortunately, it can't be right now. I have to be on the _Negotiator_ in one hour."

With a disappointed sigh, Qui-Gon gave the Knight a cheeky slap on the rear. "Then go shower, and I'll make you a cup of tea."

The sight of Obi-Wan wandering naked around his quarters as he fetched his clothes from the living room and ducked into the 'fresher was truly enjoyable. With a silly grin, Qui-Gon hopped out of bed and set the water to boil, then ducked into the living room to grab the teapot. On the floor by his desk, the sheet of flimsi from the Archives lay face-down; he picked it up and turned it over.

It was blank. Both sides of the fragile flimsi were completely unmarked, and as he held it up to the light, he could not even note any impressions from a pen or stylus. In his hands, he held an ancient and completely virgin sheet of writing material. He should take it back to the Archives. He should write about his experience in the hope that it would help another trapped in the same situation. He should take the flimsi for scientific analysis. Unable to articulate rational thought or even release the complicated knot of emotions into the Force, Qui-Gon did the one thing he could control. With vicious efficiency, he ripped the flimsi into shreds. A petulant urge overcame him, and he tossed the bits in the air like confetti. "Good riddance," he muttered.

"If you think that wandering around naked is going to convince me to stay, you're about half right," drawled Obi-Wan. Leaning against the wall and clearly enjoying the view, the redhead wore his full Jedi uniform, but his feet were bare. There was something delightfully intimate about the sight that Qui-Gon swooped in and worried Obi-Wan's earlobe with his teeth.

"Only half?" he rumbled as Obi-Wan writhed against him.

"You've made your point," groaned the Knight.

Qui-Gon stepped back suddenly with a smile. "Good. I'm going to find my pants."

Despite their mutual desire to stay ensconced in Qui-Gon's quarters, the chrono marched forward relentlessly. They both drained their teacups too quickly. Obi-Wan sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I have to go."

"I know." Something niggled at the back of Qui-Gon's mind. "Could…could I escort you to the landing platform?"

"Of course," replied Obi-Wan, squinting a little at the odd tone of Qui-Gon's voice. "I'd like that."

Ahsoka was already waiting at the loading door on platform jenth-eight with a cargo container and two packed bags. "There you are!" she cried in exasperation as the Jedi approached her. "Admiral Block's called me about five times already."

Obi-Wan smiled at her, and Qui-Gon noticed the ease with which the expression spread over his face. "Better you than me," he joked.

Ahsoka opened her mouth to retort, but stopped herself as she peered at her mentor. "You look different, Master."

"I had an excellent night's sleep," replied Obi-Wan easily. "I'm told it does wonders."

"Well, good, then," said Ahsoka firmly before turning to Qui-Gon. "Bye, Master Qui-Gon."

"I'll see you soon, Ahsoka." The Togruta girl enveloped him in a tight hug. When there was no candy for her, she stepped back with a mildly disappointed expression. Chuckling, Qui-Gon withdrew a sealed container from the depths of his cloak. "Here. Share with your Master."

Ahsoka took the container of fancy biscuits with a grin. "He can have dessert after he clears his plate."

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. "I get it. I will take better care of myself."

The platform warning alarm rang a moment before the bay doors retracted. The shuttle—the same shuttle that Qui-Gon had watched explode time and time again—waited on the platform with the cargo ramp hissing open. His replacement heart began thudding against his ribs, and Qui-Gon tried to cover his sharp inhalation. Obi-Wan noticed, of course. "Padawan, will you take the bags ahead? I'll bring the container in just a moment."

Dutifully, Ahsoka nodded and hefted their packs. "Of course, Master."

"May the Force be with you, Ahsoka," Qui-Gon managed to get out. The Togruta offered him a jaunty salute and hurried to the shuttle.

Obi-Wan turned to him, his pale face concerned. "What is it?"

"You know what? I'll tell you the next time I see you," Qui-Gon said, forcing himself to keep his voice mild. He glanced around, and upon finding the corridor empty save them, he leaned in. His fingers cupped Obi-Wan's jaw, brushing against the copper hairs of his beard. Their lips met, promising much more on their next meeting, and Qui-Gon pulled away so Obi-Wan would not have to. "I love you, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Never forget that."

"How could I forget something like that?" teased Obi-Wan softly. A faint blush rose on his cheeks. "I love you, too. I'll see you soon."

They both knew soon was a relative term in war.

Obi-Wan took hold of the shipping crate and pushed it out onto the open platform. With his heart in his throat, Qui-Gon watched as the redhead maneuvered the crate up the loading ramp with a final wave. The pneumatics hissed once more, and the shuttle's engines spun up.

Qui-Gon realized he was counting in his head, but could not stop.

The shuttle rose into the air in a graceful arc and joined the Coruscanti space lane without hesitation. It vanished in the steady stream of traffic, but Qui-Gon stood and watched for a few long minutes until his heartbeat returned to normal. He felt like weeping with relief. It was over.

He returned to his quarters to gather up the datapads he needed for his day's work. Stepping over his impromptu confetti, the sight of two teacups sitting on the low table caught his eye.

Obi-Wan's cup was clear: _Love. Hope. Care. Joy._

His own cup left him with a sense of bewildered accomplishment: _Success. Crisis averted._

He rinsed both cups and left them to dry, but he spent the day with a smile tugging at his lips.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, folks! I told you it would have a happy ending. :D
> 
> Special thanks to Sanerontheinside who let me know that this passed muster! This chapter was a challenge to myself to write explicit smut, which took way longer than writing the rest of it, lol. If you enjoyed this story, please leave a little comment; feedback keeps authors motivated to write more things for you to enjoy! Check out my other works on AO3 if you enjoyed my writing, and you can find me over on Tumblr as meggory84 for prompts, fic snippets and previews, and lots of Star Wars.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [At the Bottom of the Bottle There's a Pair of Warm Blue Eyes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17910560) by [sanerontheinside](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanerontheinside/pseuds/sanerontheinside)




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